


carry your throne

by seconddaysea



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - College/University, Canon Compliant, Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, Wait for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2018-04-20 22:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 52,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4803839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seconddaysea/pseuds/seconddaysea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>fate (n.)</b>
</p><ol>
 <li>that which is inevitably predetermined; destiny.</li>
 <li>the way Hinata Shouyou won’t leave his life.</li>
 <li>wait for it.</li>
</ol>
            </blockquote>





	1. I want a heart unbreakable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AndthereIwas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndthereIwas/gifts).



> Gratuitous kagehis, where everything hurts.    
>   
> [Carry Your Throne - Jon Bellion](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xI_bxix-6Xo)

This is how he knows:

Everything is reduced to dark lines and hard angles. With all of his furniture gone, the apartment feels so wide that it makes him feel small. 

He doesn’t feel like crying, but there is an emptiness inside him. Not sadness, he thinks, because sadness feels more... _more_. More heavy, more significant. Not particularly nostalgic, or anxious. He’s not even sure it’s something negative. Why all of a sudden though? He's been waiting for this day for so long, all he wants is for morning to come-- the sooner, the better. 

And yet, he has the feeling that if he falls asleep, or at least if he ever manages to, his dreams will be uncomfortable. Wired and hyper-lucid, because morning is coming and that's what he can't believe. 

With morning, everything changes. 

As soon as that thought appears, he resigns himself to wakefulness, shifting uncomfortably on the hard floor, fumbling for his phone on its charger. 

And then he calls, the dial-tone echoing, going on forever and ever and just when he thinks about giving up (on the third ring), something gentle crackles and Shouyou says, first thing, “I wa-n’t sl-eepin.”

Tobio doesn’t argue, even though everything about him is sleepy: the way he breathes is slow, his voice smooths over something warm. “I- sw-ear.” His unused voice crackles over the words that are too hard, “—ou sad or somehin-? —why you calle—?”

Tobio struggles to get comfortable, shifting to his back and letting his shoulder blades dig into the floor, staring up at the ceiling, criss-crossed with lights from the window. “Talk to me,” he says—demands—trying not to let his voice get too far away from him. Once it starts to grow, he feels like the emptiness will become too obvious and overwhelming, like a voice in a cave that has no echo.

Shouyou sighs soft. “‘bout what?”

“Anything.”

“—mmkay."

He's quiet for a moment, long enough for Tobio to think he’s fallen back asleep. Until abruptly, he says, in a clearer voice, “Three choices. Would you rather know what happened to me on the train today, what I want to do first when you get here, or the moment I _really_ fell in love with you?”

He pushes himself up, shoulders pressing against the wall. “All of them,” he says, and Shouyou laughs.

“Okay," he goes, and Tobio stares at the empty room around him waiting for him to begin. Dark lines and hard angles, and so many quiet memories he's grateful he's not alone. "So I was at the sitting on the train, right?—”

*****

 

    **beginning (n.)**

  1.     “And then she asked me where my parents were! She said it was amazing I could travel on my own!”
  2.     "What do you want first? Dinner? Bath? Me?" 
  3.     This is how he knows. 



 

 

He realizes, at the end of his first year of high school, that he's in love with Kageyama Tobio.

It’s not a _wham_ so much as it is an _oh_ —rough fingers in his hair, Kageyama’s small laugh at his side, and a softly muttered, _that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard_ —disorienting and making him feel like he’s falling.

Followed quickly by, _oh no_.

This, he apparently says out loud, stumbling to a stop in the middle of the street, nikuman almost forgotten in hand. Kageyama stares at him, one hand still raised as if he’s ruffling his fingers through an invisible Hinata’s hair instead.

“What the—” Kageyama starts, and Shouyou stumbles around for an excuse. There's a ghost of a touch he can feel on the back of his neck; it makes him shiver.

“I think I forgot my phone in the clubroom.” The weight in his pocket feels conspicuous, obvious, so he makes a fist around his phone, hoping Kageyama doesn’t notice. “I oughtta go back and get it.”

“Dumbass, how could you forget your phone?”

“It’s ‘cause you rushed me,” Shouyou retorts, stuffing the rest of his snack in his mouth and turning around, starting to jog back towards school before he realizes there’s a matching set of footsteps beside him. He coughs as he swallows, glancing over at the other boy, “What are you doing?”

“You can’t be trusted alone.”

“What the heck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m going with you,” Kageyama replies through a mouthful of his own, chewing placidly.

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Are you sure?”

The way he says that, without any obvious insult, makes Shouyou squint suspiciously at him.

Kageyama shrugs. “Just let me go with you already.”

Shouyou’s steps falter, just momentarily, long enough to push the kneejerk happiness that flushes up in him back down, annoyed at the feeling, annoyed at the fact that Kageyama’s this nice, annoyed that Kageyama has _always_ been, only now there’s _meaning_.

He doesn’t like meaning.

Meaning sounds troublesome. 

And messy.

(And lovely.)

But no, no thank you. 

He almost wishes he could jump back a minute and seventeen seconds, back to before he made the stupid joke about the stupid new move and never have this stupid revelation in the first place. 

But time keeps going and Kageyama's still right there next to him and Shouyou thinks spring must be coming, because it's quite warm, isn't it? 

What most people don’t understand about Kageyama is that he is nice. Of course, even if you asked Shouyou, he would be obliged to tell the truth; that Kageyama scowls all the time and uses violence to solve his problems and more often than not he’s rude and selfish. But Kageyama isn’t the king they all say he is.

He’s...nice.

Fundamentally.

Even more fundamentally, he’s Shouyou’s partner, which is more important than anything else. He’s the reason Shouyou can stand on the court at all, and volleyball is too important to him for him to just bully his way through these feelings, the way he would if it were anyone else. There’s no confess and counter, no hurt and heal. This is Kageyama, and volleyball, and...and they don’t have time for love, do they?

“Oi, hurry up, dumbass,” Kageyama says, interrupting his thoughts. "I'm going to leave you behind." 

He grins at that—in sync, even when they're not supposed to be—and then regrets that too.

Really though, he argues with himself, what’s the point of a relationship anyway? He’s perfectly content with volleyball. If anything, this crush is a nuisance. He’s only got so much energy—even if _seems_ boundless, it isn't—and he wants all of it to go to the essentials: volleyball, eating, sleeping, and not failing school (in that order).

Who has time for crushes, right?

He punches Kageyama hard in the shoulder as he passes by, pretending to slow down only to put on a second burst of speed. “Catch me then!” He lets out a laugh at that, one that turns into a shriek when Coach Ukai slams open the door and barks at them to _shut up, don’t you know what time it is, you dang kids, go home already_!

Kageyama’s laugh is so soft you’d almost miss it, but Shouyou knows, somehow, if only by the way Kageyama’s breathing changes behind him, a little whisper of something light. More so than Ukai-sensei’s shouting, it’s that laugh that makes Shouyou press his lips together, for fear that if he speaks he’ll ruin it. 

Whatever it is. 

Then he gets a whack in the back of his head and Kageyama’s suddenly right there beside him, eyes focused straight ahead, a twitch of a grin on his lips.

“Caught you—” he breathes, his voice whispered soft and quiet.

Shouyou laughs again, and he resigns himself to an unrequited love, wondering how far this one will take him. How long it will last. How, if he  _had_ to fall in love with someone, Kageyama Tobio is not the worst.

*****

 

  **incendiary (adj.)**

  1.     Saying “I'm amazed too though.” when one's boyfriend obviously wants sympathy. 
  2.     Saying “You.” when the question was obviously a joke and  _Kageyama_ _you're embarrassing me_. 
  3.     Hinata Shouyou. 



 

 

Hinata Shouyou is dangerous, he thinks, watching the boy from beneath hooded eyes.

He’s lost track of how many times it’s felt like he’s pulled into a gravitational orbit that isn’t his, lost track of how many times he’s felt like he’s been bathing in direct sunlight all day, of the amount of times he’s felt knocked off balance by the bouncing, beaming, blundering ball of light that is Hinata.

Hinata probably _is_ the sun, if the sun were ever to be condensed into a single, living, moving form. It would explain a lot though, honestly. Like where Hinata gets all his energy from, how he seems to brighten the room as soon as he enters. It would even explain the boy’s flaming orange hair, because honestly, how unnecessary otherwise is that?

But sun is fire and heat, and Tobio wonders sometimes if there will come a day he'll burn. 

Only sometimes. 

Most of the time, it’s nice, in a weird, sort of incomprehensible, way. It’s nice to have someone who keeps up with him, someone who loves volleyball as much as he does. Most importantly, someone _else_ doing the demanding for once. Hinata calls them partners and Tobio feels something twinge in his chest every time. 

Except for the time it doesn't just twinge. It aches.

In the middle of training camp, Sugawara plops down next to Tobio and says, “Hinata can be scary, can't he?" 

It doesn't sound like a question, just the start of a conversation, but he considers it anyway, brushing sweaty bangs out of his eyes and following his senpai’s gaze to the boy on the opposite side of the court. 

“Scary? How?”

Hinata doesn’t look scary, at least not right now. He’s doing his usual thing, schmoozing up to people who with anyone else would be unapproachable. In this case, it’s the setter from the Nekoma team, and the tall foreigner boy. It aches. 

Sugawara fans himself with his shirt. “He keeps doing that thing. After that Russian kid blocked your guys’ quick, and then he went for Asahi’s toss. He's got a look in his eye.”

“Oh,” Tobio says. The look. 

Ask him fifteen minutes ago and he might have said it was a good sign, because Hinata's urge to tear down those standing in his way was something Tobio only admired. But after that conversation, Tobio couldn't be so sure. It was selfish of Hinata to demand so much. It was reckless of him to want to try something new. It was painful of him to put at risk everything Tobio was working so hard to build—

“What do you think, Kageyama?”

“About?”

“Hinata.”

“What about him?”  

The older boy stares for a second, then waves a hand lazily as if he can’t be bothered to explain. “Well nevermind. I told him I agreed with you—that you two ought to focus on polishing your current sets—but I don’t think he’s satisfied.”

“If he does anything stupid, I’ll scold him.”

Sugawara laughs at that, reaching around the mess of bags and equipment around them for a water bottle. “Well you'd know how to deal with him best. Oh, speaking of which. I heard the Fukurodani guys calling you two the oddball duo yesterday. I think it’s catching on.” 

It aches.

Tobio doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t question it, ducking his head instead as he accepts the water bottle his vice-captain hands him. "We're—" he starts to say, then changes his mind, “—I’m not at your level yet.” 

“Still saying that?” Sugawara smacks him on the back, making Tobio choke on his water. "That makes me feel sort of glad. Of course if you get reckless at all, I'm going to come gunning for my old position, so watch out for that." 

Tobio stiffens up at the very thought. “I-I won’t get reckless!” 

Sugawara just laughs harder, "As vice-captain, I'm glad to hear it. As a setter, I'm all fired up. You're the same, I hope."

Tobio only nods, harder than necessary. 

The older boy gives a satisfied nod, turning back to the court and following the match before them absently. The two of them make a similar noise of appreciation when Ubugawa's setter manages a drop shot, and for a moment, the ache in his chest eases up just for a bit. 

Then Sugawara speaks up again, in a different sort of tone that captures Tobio's attention.

"If Hinata can really fight on his own like he wants, then Karasuno will be even stronger. The only reason he can stand on the court is because of you."

He tries to speak, but the ache just came back, full-force, and his voice doesn't work properly. Sugawara keeps speaking anyway, his eyes still on the court. 

"If I were him, I'd probably want the same thing he does. That's probably not good to admit, but he's not being wrong for wanting to be strong. All of us are like that after all, aren't we?" 

"But he's being—" He falters. 

"Selfish?" Sugawara glances up in the direction of Hinata, and Tobio can't help but follow his gaze again, staring. "Mmm...maybe you're right. I definitely think we have a chance at Nationals this year, and don't tell Daichi, but I know it's because of you two joining our team." He gives Tobio a look out of the corner of his eye that makes Tobio anxious, but then he breaks into an easy smile and pushes himself up to his feet. "Look at you, listening to all my complaints. You're gonna be a good senpai one day." 

Tobio doesn't respond, taken aback by just about everything. He only nods, and the other boy laughs as he sets his water bottle back down on the ground and ruffles Tobio's hair. "Anyway, I need to go tell Asahi something before our next match. I'll leave Hinata in your care, alright?" 

"S-Sugawara-san, I—I don't—"

The boy turns back, raising a brow. 

"I don't know how to—...Hinata's being..." 

"Selfish?" Sugawara finishes a second time, this time with a grin. "A selfish ace is a good one, you know. I wish Asahi would learn something from Hinata. Tanaka for that matter too..." He's already walking away, scanning the gym. 

"But is it okay to tell him no?" 

"Tell Hinata no?" 

He nods. 

The boy settles his hands on his hips, regarding Tobio now with his full attention. "Honestly?" 

He nods again. 

Sugawara starts out slow, choosing his words carefully. "Our team is still...well, you know. Weak. We have lots of things to work on, I don't want to ruin what we have just for Hinata's sake. Like I told him outside, I don't think it makes sense to pursue something so difficult while there's so much else to do." 

Tobio nods a little harder, relieved that they share the same opinion. But then Sugawara sighs, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. 

"But honestly, I can't be sure. Like I said, the stronger Hinata gets, the stronger Karasuno gets. And I'm all for that. Besides, he's like..." he gestures vaguely, "...you know,  _scary._ "

Tobio stops nodding.

Sugawara cracks a smile at that. "I can't explain it if you don't see it, but to most normal people—yes, _you're_ not normal either, Kageyama—Hinata's something else. Say something is impossible for him and the next thing you know..." Another vague gesture, but Tobio already knows what's coming next. He knows, the way he knows in the middle of a game where Hinata will be, like a sixth sense. "It's not so impossible after all."

He understands.

 *****

 

**always (adv.)**

  1.     forever.
  2.     “ _I’m here!_ ” he remembers.  
He remembers that moment, the shattering of his crown, the cloak on his shoulders falling away. He remembers the feeling of the ball against his fingertips, lights in his eyes, and god, the way he flies. Hinata’s there, he’s always there.  
But he’s waiting for the drop.  
The, _you’re here_ , _and then you’re not_.
  3.     a promise, waiting to be broken.



 

 

First things first, no matter how tiring, he’s got to take care of Hinata Shouyou. 

The ball falls short, bouncing harmlessly on the floor, a good four feet short of the plastic bottle he had set up at the edge of the court. 

Shit.

“Another.” He shifts back to Yachi, only to see her staring at him with startled eyes, and only then he realizes how his voice snapped, still echoing in the gym. Tobio grimaces, irritated with himself for that too, adding stiffly, “Please.”

“Uhm, K-Kageyama-kun. We’re out of b-balls already.”

He turns, now glaring at the some twenty volleyballs scattered around the gym, one still rolling away from him. And then he glares again at the two plastic bottles, standing almost mockingly perfectly on his line.

“Let me j-just gather them again?” Yachi suggests and Tobio gives a grudging nod. “Just give me a second?”

“It’s alright. I can help.” He’s already ducking under the net to get the balls that have rolled to the other side of the court. “You’re helping me anyway.”

He bites his lip as he gathers the balls, tossing them back towards Yachi waiting on the other side with the cart. In theory, a ball that drops off at the peak of its toss shouldn’t be so difficult. But there’s so much to consider. Hinata’s run up, his jump, the strike, the blockers. And then the toss itself, lofty, but quick and straight, and hovering at the end, pausing, waiting for the hit. It'd be so much easier if he had Hinata to practice with, but that would defeat the entire purpose, wouldn't it—

“...geyama-kun?”

“Hm?” He only realizes he’s been standing in place when he notices her staring at him curiously. “Oh, sorry.” He tosses the ball he has in his hands, jogging to the last two and carrying them, ducking back under the net and depositing them with the rest.

“Alright,” he starts to go back to his center position, “This time, can you toss the balls a little higher? I’ve nearly got—”

“Kageyama-kun, maybe we should take a break?” She hastily corrects herself, “I mean, I’m a little thirsty. D-do you mind if I get a drink?” 

It's obviously a lie, but he stifles his argument for her sake. She's helping him way beyond what a manager needs to do after all. Nodding, he follows her to the bags set by the door, picking a ball from the cart as he passes and spiking it against the floor as he walks, letting it spin against his fingers.

He doesn’t even notice her talking again, not until she waves a water bottle in front of his face. “Because you’ve been working hard.”

“Ah, thanks,” he mumbles, tucking the ball under his arm as he opens the bottle and takes a sip. It’s already lukewarm, and it only just occurs to him that they’ve been doing this for hours. He can feel it vaguely in his legs, a slight fatigue. The thought makes him glance at Yachi apprehensively, wondering if she felt the same. 

But Yachi only sighs happily after taking a drink from her starry water bottle, wiping her lips on the back of her wrist. “Ahhh, that hits the spot!”

He shakes his head, setting the bottle down and going back to spinning the ball in his hands, as if he can get better at setting just by holding it. “Do you need to go home?”

“Nope!” She pushes up her sleeve, flexing nonexistent arm muscles. “I’m ready to go! Are you hungry? I’ve even brought onigiri if you want some?”

Tobio shakes his head, declining. It also occurs to him, a bit belatedly, that this is the first time he’s really spoken to her one on one, without Hinata there to be his buffer. He clears his throat, making another attempt at courtesy. “Are you okay practicing with me?”

Yachi seems taken aback at first, but then she nods, a bit too vigorously. “Yep! I already told my mom I’d be home late. Don’t worry about me; I’m just glad I can help you!”

“Why?” It slips out before he can stop it.

“Why? Because, I’m the manager, right?” She gets flustered, “I mean I’m only the assistant manager for now, not like Kiyo-Kiyoko-san. Plus I’m—” And then he notices her face turning a bit red, her hands hiding behind her back. “I—I just want to help you and Hinata-kun. So it's a little selfish too.”

“Oh.” The ball goes still for a moment in his hands, then picks up again. Help you and Hinata-kun, she said, as if it were only natural. Her sincerity is disarming. There’s a part of him that’s actually uneasy in the face of her purity. He can’t help but think she’s never had a bitter thought in her entire life and it's more disorienting than it ought to be. 

It’s quiet for a moment.

“You know,” Yachi starts off nervously, then continues when he only looks at her, waiting for her to finish. “I was really worried about you two after that f-fight, but seems like it’ll be okay after all, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

“W-well! Like, I was really scared when you two started f-fighting, and T-Tanaka-senpai got really mad, and then you went home without saying anything to each other and—” Her face grows pinched, like she’s recalling something frightening. “You two still aren’t talking though. Are you still fighting?”

“We’re not fighting,” Tobio bounces the ball hard a couple times, the smack echoing around the gym. He’s still got a bruise on his cheek where Hinata’s head collided, but it’s not like he's going to hold a grudge.

“O-oh!” she squeaks, and then she’s back to cowering from the bite in his tone, like he's going to attack.

Tobio grunts, annoyed. Talking to people is honestly so much trouble, they never understand him and things always spiral out of control. He smacks the ball a bit too hard and it shoots out of his grasp, bouncing away from him before he can grab it. He clicks his tongue, irately deciding to address her first before he went chasing after it.

“We’re not fighting—” he starts, and she squeaks again. He continues like he hadn’t noticed, “—we’re just trying to get better for the team. In order to win.” He doesn’t know how to make it more clear to someone who doesn’t already understand. He's not Sugawara or anything; this sort of thing is incomparably hard. “A setter has to be able to send the spiker the perfect toss, a toss made just for him. A good setter has to be able to send any toss, and if I want to be the best, that’s what I have to do.”

“I-is that what this toss is?”

He nods, feeling himself get a little excited at the thought, feeling some of his energy come back and the fatigue seep away. The best setter. “If I can pull it off—” He stops, unwilling to jinx it. He can’t explain why, but things with Hinata are fragile. And he's so clumsy, always so awkward and unsure when it comes to words, sometimes they’re too delicate to even speak of. He starts again, this time braver, surer. “When I pull it off, Hinata’s going to be unstoppable. But until then, I don’t want to get in his way.” 

"I see," she says, even though it's obvious again she's lying. 

"Mhmm." 

Yachi absently starts after the ball, and he beats her to it, waving her away.

As she starts back towards the cart, he catches a softly muttered line that echoes further than she probably intends. “I don’t understand boys at all, Kaa-chan.”

He doesn’t think that’s intended for him to hear, but it’s not like he has a response either. Assuming the conversation is over, Tobio heads back to his setting position, giving his arms a few stretches to limber them up. 

"Doesn't that mean they're just arguing the same thing?" 

*****

 

 

     **loose (v.)** _as in ‘cut loose’_

  1.     free or released from fastening or attachment.
  2.     uncombined, as a chemical element.



 

 

The first time they get their quick strike down, the first time they look at each other and they _know_ — _they’ve got it_ —Shouyou’s too excited to think of anything else.

He knows that they haven’t spoken for days, that the space at his side has been gaping and empty since their fight. He knows that the bruises are still discolored beneath his skin. He knows that the entire team has been tiptoeing around the two of them, afraid to trample on whatever exists between them.

He knows, and he forgets.

As if it never happened. All that exists is the way his hand stings, his palm red and burning, and that point rings in his head. Shouyou fights to keep his breathing steady, afraid that the spark will go out, this time for good.

After practice, Kageyama doesn’t wait for him and Shouyou doesn’t want him to. But he rides home with shaking legs, alternating between a heart so light he might soar away and a clump in his throat that makes his eyes blur.

He collapses through the front door, hardly able to respond when Natsu finds him still lying there twenty minutes later, so relieved he’s breathless.

“Yachi-san,” he blurts out the moment she answers. “I’m sorry!”

 _“For what?”_ she sounds surprised and it occurs to him he hasn’t really thought this through, only that he’s itching to do something.

He hunches his shoulders. “For worrying you, I think? I mean, yeah, for worrying you.”

She’s quick to deny his apologies and all that nonsense, but when she asks in a soft voice, just before he hangs up, _“Are you two going to be okay?”_ , he replies with a voice brimming right at the edge of hope.

“Yeah,” he says, “we’re going to be the best.”

 

 

A week later, during the Aobajousai match, when he hits the final point, the feeling this time is not so overwhelming that he forgets to meet Kageyama’s eyes next to him. His hand stings so bad from the force of his spike that his eyes water, but his knees go weak and he can’t figure out if that’s because the match is over, or if it’s because the way Kageyama is looking at him, dazed and startled, as if it hasn’t wholly dawned on him what they just did.

But then he’s getting swarmed by the senpai and the moment passes, leaving only his heart thumping deafeningly in his ears.

Both of them too tired to even speak, he grins across the court at his partner. The smile Kageyama gives back is a crooked one, and Shouyou thinks about how he wouldn’t trade anything for this feeling. He's not sure of the difference between his emotions anymore, he doesn’t know where friendship ends and love begins, only that he wants this feeling and that smile. Again and again. For the rest of his life.

*****

 

**promise (n.)**

  1.     a declaration that something will be done.



 

 

Anticlimactic.

Tobio wakes up and takes a shower and his mom makes him a special celebratory breakfast, but he supposes after that, after _victory against Shiratorizawa_ , anything would feel anticlimatic.

The finals were on Saturday, and there’s no practice today because Coach wants them to rest, but he feels like he’s missing something. There is a part of him that’s still in the middle of the match. While he lies in bed with a volleyball magazine, his legs are still running, his body still diving, his hands still moving. And his eyes keep searching, like he’s half prepared to send a toss—like he’s hovering in that space between heartbeats when the world goes sharp and silent, his attention focused on something, someone—

He doesn't even tell his mother he's going out, just slips out the front door with a jacket zipped up to his throat.

And then he starts running. Aimlessly he thinks at first, but by the time he realizes where his feet are taking him, he’s come too far to stop now.

He calls Hinata on his phone, trying to catch his breathing, the air cold in his lungs.

When the boy answers, he speaks with his mouth full. _“Kageyama?”_

“Hey,” he says.

_“What’s up?”_

“I’m—”

 _“Natsu! Don’t—I need that!—Kageyama, wait—”_ There’s a sudden bang that makes Tobio flinch, then the sounds of shrieking and laughter, and footsteps pounding in the distance. By the time Hinata comes back to the phone, he sounds breathless, his voice high and airy. _“Sorry! Natsu was being a pain."_

“It’s fine.”

_“Kageyama! You think when we go to school tomorrow, we’ll get a special announcement for winning?”_

Of course Hinata monopolizes the conversation; Tobio’s too used to it to complain by now. He leans against the neighbor’s wall, crossing one arm over his chest. “Probably,” he responds. “Maybe during—”

 _“—Morning announcement!”_ Hinata interrupts excitedly.

“Oi, don’t just interrupt me—”

 _“Man it’s hard to believe we really won!”_ He sighs audibly, dreamily, and Tobio can somehow imagine the face Hinata is making. It stops him from the retort that springs to the tip of his tongue—What’s so hard to believe? Of course we won.—Then Hinata laughs, _“Of course we won though. Our team is strong, isn’t it?”_

Tobio feels something warm in his chest, something replacing the icy coldness from his run. He sucks in a quiet breath, staring at the ground between his toes. "Yeah," he admits, "it is."

_"Next is nationals and then we'll be the strongest!"_

"Don't get too _—"_

_"And then we can challenge Kenma again!"_

"Stop interrupting—"

_"That'll be amazing!"_

"Oi—"

 _"Who do you think would—wait—_ Kageyama?"

It takes him a moment to realize the voice isn't coming through his cell. He glances up, finding himself staring at Hinata's startled expression, the boy halfway out his front door. Tobio presses his lips together, slowly pulling the phone from his ear and snapping it shut, slipping it into his pocket. Coming up with excuses isn’t technically his strong point—it’s not even a weak point, it doesn’t even register on the scale—so he doesn’t bother.

"What are you doing here?"

"Running," he says, truthfully. Though coming all the way to Yukigaoka for a run is ridiculous even by his standards and—

Hinata bursts out laughing. "If you just wanted to see me, Kageyama, you could just call—"

Tobio flushes. "What do you think I was doing?"

"Well say that sort of thing first! I was gonna go for a run too, after running errands for my mom." He shuts the door behind him, bouncing down the steps to the street. "For some reason I'm not even tired. Why's that? I wonder if I'm just too excited. Anyway right, what's up?"

Hinata seems brighter than usual, lighter, somehow. Is that just his imagination? Tobio's finding it strangely hard to speak, to gather his thoughts together and string them into words. Hinata’s energy is nothing surprising, but there _is_ a reason he came here, right?

"Oh," Hinata interrupts again, but this time Tobio's grateful. "Natsu's staring. We should get out of here."

There's a tuft of wild orange hair and big, round eyes in the glass door, nose pressed against the glass and leaving smudges.

"Don’t make any eye contact," Hinata says gravely, and Tobio hastily shifts his gaze.

"Why?"

"It was a joke, Kageyama, jeez. Oh but really, let's go before she wants to follow." Hinata breaks into a run, and Tobio is all too happy to follow, feeling like he's fallen off rhythm and desperate to stop from staring at this strangely bright Hinata.

His muscles are protesting, already shaking from the run to Hinata's house and from the match from yesterday, but running is more natural for him than talking. And even more natural is racing. Within seconds, they're somehow competing, Hinata laughing hard at his side, pushing themselves to their fullest, racing each other up a high hill and peeling into a playground. Tobio collapses on the end of the slide, his legs weak and his breathing harsh in his ears.

Hinata on the other hand, seems only energized, bounding up the stairs and skipping across the chain-bridge. As Tobio recovers, he watches Hinata from the corner of his eye, the boy humming loudly and offkey, balancing now on the jungle gym.

Hinata catches Tobio staring. "What?" He hops down to the ground, trotting over. "What are you laughing at? Are you laughing at me?"

"You're like an elementary school kid."

"Why you!"

He fends off the punches only half-heartedly, waiting for Hinata to get tired. He doesn’t need to wait long.

Hinata gives him a final shove, his mood maybe too high to be brought down. "So what'd you come here for anyway? Was it really to see me?"

"Don't get carried away," Tobio grumbles, shoving him back with an elbow. He's quiet a second, then admits gruffly, "It was boring staying at home."

The smile on Hinata’s face makes Tobio’s stomach twist.

"Oh, I know that feeling. I could hardly even sleep last night. Could you?"

Tobio shrugs. Truthfully, he probably crashed as soon as he got home, but for some reason he hardly remembers any of it. Hinata doesn’t need to know that.

Hinata hums, climbing onto the slide behind Tobio and sits backwards, letting gravity slide him down until they're fitted together at the bottom, back to back. It's quiet a moment, save for Tobio's heart still beating loudly in his ears. An aftereffect of that much running, he supposes.

Then Hinata speaks up again, his voice soft. "I like this feeling." He stretches his arms above him, like he's reaching for the clouds. Tobio watches from over his shoulder. "Let's win next year too. And the year after that. And then we can make a tradition of this; you creeping around my house in the morning like a stalke—Ah I'm joking, it's a joke!"

But Tobio is quiet as he thinks, and when he speaks, his voice is thoughtful. "Okay."

Hinata shifts against his back, his expression questioning. "Okay?" he echoes.

"We'll make this a tradition."

Hinata pushes himself up, eyes wide. "Really?"

"I mean, not the stalking thing, you idiot. But like...this." Tobio rubs the back of his neck, feeling strangely naked under Hinata's stare and silence. "That's our goal anyway, right? We'll win every time and we'll do this every year. Until we’re the strongest."

“Until we’re the strongest,” Hinata echoes, adopting this tone of wonder that makes Tobio shiver. Then he laughs, clenching his hand into a fist and settling back down, back-to-back, his weight comfortable and easy against Tobio’s. "Deal," he says, and Tobio grins.

*****

 

**mistaken (adj.)**

  1.     erroneous, incorrect, wrong.



 

 

In the mornings, when he sees Kageyama waiting for him near the bike racks, Shouyou feels his cheeks grow warm and he’s grateful for the cold. When he bursts into Kageyama’s classroom at lunch, when Kageyama rises to meet him and they go together to the spot behind the second building to eat in peace and practice, Shouyou feels a delicious sense of pleasure that can only be described as possessiveness. When he receives a message from Kageyama, he still can’t help himself from lunging across his bed just to see it.

By summer, he admits to himself that not only is Kageyama “not terribly disfigured”, he’s maybe, sort of, horrifyingly attractive. He wonders if it’s just closeness, like how the nearer you sit to the movie screen, the more you miss at the edges. Shouyou’s heart skips a beat every time the boy so much as grins, turning that rare flash of sunlight in his direction.

The most brutal was the day Kageyama came in with a hair cut and these ridiculously deep, blue eyes, quoting some utterly unfair reason like he wanted his hair out of his way to better see, making Shouyou sputter and cough on his water.

He smothers those reactions beneath a thousand smiles and laughs, because he hates them almost as much as he loves them.

Going to Nationals is a dream with a deadline; he needs to devote himself one hundred percent to that. He’s good at that, at devoting himself one hundred percent to the things he sets his sights on. He treats everyone in the team with the same easy intimacy: clinging to the third years like a teddy bear, sticking by the second years like glue, irritating Tsukishima and Yamaguchi the same way he would anyone else.

And he tells himself that this isn’t giving up. Giving up isn’t in his repertoire. He’s fighting for a dream that’s more important than feelings that will disappear within who knows how long.

(Except the feelings don’t disappear.)

*****

 

**rhythm (n.)**

  1.      metrical form, meter, cadence.



 

 

“What are you doing this weekend?” he asks, popping the buttons one by one on his uniform and shrugging out of the jacket.

Hinata is already down to his skin, flapping out his uniform and tossing it over the door of his locker. “I dunno, why?”

“The pro league tournament starts this weekend.” He pulls his shirt over his head. “Do you wanna go?”

The words are hardly out of his mouth before Hinata’s latched on, eyes sparkling just inches away. “YES. When? Where? Aren’t there tickets? I thought you have to pay to go!”

“My mom bought a couple tickets, but she got sick and said I should invite someone else.”

“Is she okay?”

“Yeah, just a summer cold.” Truth be told, there’s something sort of suspicious about his mother’s “coughing fits”, but investigating seems like digging for an answer he doesn't want. “So do you want to go?”

“Is it really okay for me to go?”

“If you don’t want to, don’t,” Tobio snaps, rolling his eyes. He zips his gym jersey up to his neck, rubbing tight muscles at the back of his neck. Sleeping on his desk is such a bad idea really, but he can’t help it. For some reason he’s always so tired, right before lunch, and his eyes start closing…

His yawn is suddenly disrupted by a hard tug on his arm.

“I’ll go, I’ll go!”

“Hinata, shut up! So noisy!” someone from the other side of the changing room calls. Hinata doesn’t even seem to hear.

“Alright.” Tobio shrugs Hinata’s arm off, bending down to tie his gym shoes. “I’ll text you tonight then.”

“Awesome!” From the corner of his eye, he can see Hinata bouncing, way too close to the low ceiling for Tobio’s comfort, with his shirt in his hands like a flag and his chest still bare. Hinata is tiny, but Tobio’s noticed recently that that’s really only in comparison. He’s put on muscle and he doesn’t seem so awfully gangly anymore, clumsy and fragile.

Except...there is still a part of Hinata that makes Tobio think about protecting him. The part of him that worries over Hinata’s well-being all of the time, that gets panicked and concern when the boy goes cartwheeling across the gym and smacks into the wall because he can’t seem to keep his feet and head in the right place.

It’s just a typical teammate’s concern, he tells himself, and that’s logical enough.

Tobio pauses, laces taut between his fingers. “Oi, if you hurt yourself in gym period, I’m gonna kill you.”

Immediately, Hinata stops jumping, but he still can’t seem to sit still, dancing in place.

“Who’s playing? How many games are there?”

“Three if we’re lucky. Two for sure though, and it’s only the qualifiers. The finals are held on next weekend and they got sold out fast.”

“That’s fine!” His head pops through the collar of his shirt and he’s flushed like he’s got a little secret. Tobio doesn’t ask, and Hinata doesn’t tell. He beams instead, doing another little hopskip in place. “Oh my god, I’m so excited! I don’t think I can sleep tonight!”

For a moment, Tobio feels a tug at the corner of his lips. Hinata’s enthusiasm is infectious somehow. If possible, he’s looking forward to the matches even more than he was before. As he follows the rest of the boys trickling out of the changing room, he glances aside as his partner. “This is your first professional match, right?”

“Yeah!” Hinata bounces along at his side. It’s long since passed the point where Tobio warns him off about unnecessary activity. They could probably run a marathon in physical education class and Hinata would still have enough energy to play a full-set game during practice.

Tobio nods, fighting another yawn. “It’ll be good for you to see pros play live then. There’s one team, the Panasonic Panthers. Pay attention to their left wing spiker. He’s only 172 centimeters, but the way he plays is pretty similar. Of course he’s not as quick as you, but his technique is really good for a university player and—what are you looking at me like that for?”

Hinata beams, giving the rubberband around his little tuft of a ponytail a final snap. “Nothing,” he chirps innocently, bouncing a few steps ahead. “Oh, Sensei looks like he’s gonna be mad. Hurry, let’s run!”

Tobio almost automatically drops into a jog, following Hinata onto the track, letting the boy dash ahead of him, catching up to the rest of the class. 

He watches Hinata from beneath hooded eyes, starting out slow, counting how many steps fall between his steady breaths. The wind tugs away at the sleepiness on his shoulders and he takes a deep breath of crisp, cold air, letting his body warm it up inside him until his bones are tingly. Noise travels easily in the brittle air and he can hear the other boys laughing about some manga or tv show, Hinata right in the middle of it. 

Part of him gets twisted up inside while he watches, though he isn't sure of what. It isn't jealousy though, at least he doesn't think so. It's not like he particularly wants to be there with them, talking about things like that. 

It's not jealousy over Hinata either, because Tobio doesn't have it in him to be greedy like that. They're already partners in volleyball--what more does he need? But the more he watches Hinata, the less he understands. Especially because when Hinata catches his eye, he grins and comes racing back and the feeling only grows, even while Tobio thinks to himself  _Hinata always comes back._

"Kageyama, you're so slow." 

"It's not a race." 

"Thank goodness. If it were, you'd be losing." 

Tobio tries to punch him. 

“Anyway, if that guy’s 172...” the boy dodges without paying attention. “I grew three centimeters since last year, so if I keep this up...” Tobio can practically hear Hinata’s unused gears cracking under the pressure, “by third year I’ll be as tall as him. And by first year of university I’ll be 175—”

“That’s not how it works, dumbass.”

“Bakayama, you don’t have any faith! Just watch! I’ll break 170 by next year, and I’ll catch up to you!”

“Except I’ll be 190 by next year.”

“What! You can’t grow that much!”

“It's only five more. I grew five this year. Tsukishima grew four so—”

“You said that's not how it works!" He counts out on his fingers. "Then I’ll grow ten centimeters!”

“That’s not even possible, are you stupid?”

“You’re stupid!” Hinata returns, and he gives Tobio a punch in the side as they run, making him nearly veer into the soccer field and trip over the gutter.

“Oi—” he snaps, aiming another punch at Hinata’s head that the boy sidesteps too easily, laughing brightly with a stream of mist spiraling from his lips. It’s somewhat annoying how Hinata’s not even breathing hard, even though he takes two steps for every one of Tobio’s, even though he bounds along like he’s about to take off. 

Sometimes Tobio wonders if Hinata really _can_ fly, the way he jumps in matches, how effortless he makes it look. It makes his stomach twist sometimes. _In jealousy_ , Tobio tells himself, from an athlete's standpoint, but it’s beginning to not feel like that. Jealousy is darker, heavier, and that feeling is anything but.

Tobio wants to wrap his arms around the other boy’s waist, count how many times his fingers can go around Hinata’s throat and wrists, splay his fingers over a small, narrow spine. He wants to figure him out. 

 _Fuck,_ he thinks to himself. Of himself. At himself.

He shifts his eyes forward again, listening to Hinata’s soft steps beside, inside, his heavier ones, a steady bouncing rhythm that he’s gotten strangely accustomed to over time. He forces himself to concentrate only on that rhythm, even as a part of him wonders how fast it can go. How far it will take him.

He surges forward, dropping his head down and pumping his arms.

Hinata falls behind only for a second. Then the gap closes and he’s bouncing indignantly at Tobio’s side again. “You can’t just start a race without announcing it, Kageyama!”

Tobio doesn’t reply, lengthening his strides, feeling his chest expand and sucking in cold, bitter air.

“Damn!” Hinata curses from behind. “No cheating!”

 _How far until it breaks apart?_ he wonders, and he goes even faster, paying attention to nothing but the lines of the track in front of him, how he moves his arms, pushing himself forward until he feels his body hit that weird, disconnected state, where it’s effortless for him, his feet barely touching the ground. He blazes right past the other boys in their class and their laughter come distantly, already far behind him. 

And then suddenly, there’s a hand on his shoulder, fingers gripping the sleeve of his shirt to pull him back and then pushing off. Hinata’s laughter is breathy and high, loud in the clear air. “Like I’d let you get away from me that easy, Kageyama,” he shouts gleefully, because it’s Hinata and everything he does is loud.

Loud and bright and blinding.

Tobio falters a step and he forgets to count his breathing. But the rhythm. He hears it crystal clear, going so fast the beats are starting to string together into one, sounding an awful lot like the pace his heart is suddenly setting, reverberating in his chest.

“Giving up already?” Hinata asks, calling over his shoulder, and Tobio just grins back and _runs_.

*****

 

 

**ordinary (adj.)**

  1.     of no special quality, commonplace, unexceptional.
  2. _(antonym) Kageyama Tobio._



 

 

They start to ask him what he wants to do with his life and he wonders if he's too old to keep saying 'volleyball', resolutely, without a doubt.

 _You're a second year now, Shouyou,_ they keep saying and he knows. How can he not know, it's like they don't want him to forget it. 

Shouyou starting to realize that these feelings won’t go away so easy, but they’re so deeply hidden that it’s his new normal.

Time has made it easier, if not more laughable. 

He becomes used to those sparks, those reactions that Kageyama forces out of him. To be fair, he’s worked hard for it, for their proximity; worming his way into Kageyama’s trust purposefully and settling there like a stubborn rock in his shoe. He wanted to be Kageyama’s partner and he could only do that if they trusted one another, right? So it's only natural he learns how to deal with the side effects. 

His cheeks stop turning red.

Touches don’t make him jump and shiver.

The sight of Kageyama’s face in the morning becomes expected and Shouyou stops keeping count of all of his smiles.

(But his heart still flips.)

There are plenty of other things that aren’t normal, or things will at least take some getting used to, so that takes up much of his attention. The club feels empty even though only four people are missing. What makes it even weirder is that the club is actually bigger now, because there’s new first years, all of whom want to play alongside the prefectural representatives, one of the top teams in the nation. At the beginning, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to get used to this. How most of them are taller than him, how they all call him senpai and ask him for advice.

There’s one kid who’s particularly fixated on Shouyou himself. And while he thought before it would have made him feel really good, the boy’s questions just make Shouyou’s chest seize up.

How do you jump that far? How much do you run? What’s minus-zero tempo? How do you time it with Kageyama-senpai’s tosses?

Can I learn to do that too?

He's tried to explain it, but how do you explain how it feels to hit Kageyama's tosses, how you know where they're coming from before you even ask, how they've given up on hand signals because there's simply no point defining a language that defies meaning. 

Whenever they ask, he feels obligated to push them onto someone else, like Yamaguchi, who is somehow really good with the first years, or Tsukishima, who actually knows how to explain things. The one person he doesn’t push anyone towards is Kageyama, because Kageyama can be scary and is too much of a genius and…

(And his.)

Tanaka probably notice, because Tanaka as vice-captain notices everything, but Shouyou doesn’t care. They’re partners, this is normal.

When Kageyama starts talking to that one first year, the one trying to become a middle blocker (“just like you, Hinata-senpai!”), Shouyou always finds himself shouting—“Kageyama, toss!”—and he starts running, half because he doesn’t know how else to do it, and half because Kageyama, even though he complains and gets frantic and always scolds him for five minutes after, always—every single time—gets the ball to him.

(His heart sings.)

*****

 

 

**glance (n.)**

  1.     a quick or brief look.
  2.     a gleam or flash of light.
  3.     “Is there something on my face, Kageyama?”



 

 

"Alright." Ennoshita claps his hands together, glancing over his shoulder at the other side of the court, where Tanaka and Hinata are in the middle of some elaborate demonstration during their huddle. "We've won the first set mostly thanks to the fact that Hinata and Seita aren't used to working together, but we shouldn't get too comfortable. Tanaka always warms up by the tenth point and we should really keep watch on Yamaguchi's serves."

"Don't worry! I'll get my hands on that serve," Nishinoya declares, smacking one fist into his palm. "Yamaguchi's been mixing his jump float with all sorts of other stuff, ah? Tsukishima, did you teach him that?"

"I'm not his mother." 

"What did you say--" 

"Oi, Noya, don't start scrapping." Ennoshita sighs, smacking the libero in the head before he can drop into boxing position. From across the court, he waves back when he sees Coach give a sign. "Alright, time out over. Even though this is a practice match, treat every ball as a real point. Focus on connecting passes. Yes?"

"Got it," they call together.

As he steps onto the court, Tobio sees Hinata on the other side, making faces at him and mouthing vague threats that just look stupid. Tobio ignores it, concentrating instead on stretching his leg behind his back, working out a little bit of tension in his knee.

Then Tsukishima comes, his voice cutting through Tobio's thoughts. "King, you aren't jumping fast enough for the block." Not cruelly, but definitely blunt. When it comes to defense, Tsukishima is always straight to the point, no sarcasm or jokes.

"I'm not—"

"You can't just assume Noya-senpai's going to get the ball every single time and ignore the block for the sake of the set. You know that, right?"

"That isn't what I'm—"

"Oh, well if that's not what you're doing, then pardon me, Your Grace. I was just talking from the point of view of lead blocker on this team—"

"Alright!" he snaps, fighting the urge to punch the taller boy in the face. From the corner of his eye, he sees Ennoshita's head starting to turn in their direction and he hastily drops his tone, "I got it. I'll be more careful. Is that good enough?"

Tsukishima stares down the end of his nose, looking like he's got something else to say. And then he says it, which goes against the whole point, Tobio thinks. "Are you distracted with something, King?" Somehow, he manages to make it sound less like a question and more like a statement, an irritating one at that.

Tobio tsks under his breath. "Don't call me that. I'm fine."

"If you aren't going to focus in this practice match, you should just tell the coach to sub you out."

"Oi, is there a problem?" Coach Ukai calls from where he stands, and Tobio notices everyone staring, already in their ready positions save for the two of them.

He shakes his head, muttering under his breath, "I said I'm fine."

Tsukishima is quiet a moment. But then he glances across the court, where Hinata is hopping up and down, and then back at Tobio, sighing. And this time, he doesn’t say anything.

Somehow that’s worse.

"For the sake of winning, I sure hope so." He strides away, calling out to apologize for the delay, and Tobio bites his tongue, turning towards the net and forcing himself to focus on Yamaguchi, standing at the endline with the ball in hand.

 _Shit_.

It isn't like he's _trying_ to hide anything. He doesn't even know what he has to hide in the first place, and he's fine. He _is._

But if Tsukishima felt the need to bring it up, if he was going out of his way to ask, then Tobio's really _really_ fucked.

(And _that_? That look in Hinata's direction? What the hell was that?) 

On the other side of the court, Hinata is already running, flying back and forth on the other end of the net, drawing Tobio’s eye even though he ought to know better.

He really is an perfect decoy, no matter what Hinata himself says. Even though Tobio knows there's no point in watching Hinata, that he really ought to be looking at the ball instead, he can't help it—

"Kageyama! Right!" Someone calls for the pass and Tobio just barely gets himself under the ball in time, shooting up a toss that Kinnoshita spikes right down, making their side burst into cheers.

 _Shit,_ Tobio thinks again, even as he accepts a hi-five from the third year. The pass wasn't as good as it could have been, delayed just a few milliseconds. And even though he doubts anyone would have been able to tell, it matters. He could have done it better. He should have done it better.

It's just...Hinata.

And truth be told, Tobio knows it's not just because of Hinata's decoy abilities, or how attention-grabbing his style of play is. For some reason, lately (or maybe not that lately and it’s just recently that he’s caught himself), Tobio's eyes have been finding a familiar orange ball of fire, spotting him across a courtyard or down the hallway. Sometimes even sorting him out of the morning assemblies, even though Hinata's a good ten centimeters shorter than most guys in their grade.

Tobio doesn't get it.

"Fuck," he mumbles to himself, getting back into position against the net.

From the side, Tsukishima clears his throat in a very pointed way. 

"Fuck," Tobio says again.

*****

  

**strength (n.)**

  1.     physical, mental, or moral power.
  2.     “I’ll make you the strongest.”



 

 

By the time the senpai graduate, handing down the reins, he thinks he’s maybe grown up a little. Or that’s at least what Yamaguchi says, laughing as he says it, when Shouyou’s stopped at the end of practice to take a drink of water.

“Have I?” He wipes his chin with the edge of his shirt. “I’m still the shortest in our year though.”

Tsukishima glances over Yamaguchi’s shoulder, expression innocent. “What do you mean, ‘still’? Were you planning to grow twenty centimeters in three years?”

“Shut up! I grew five, didn't I? I still have time!”

“Shh, Tsukki. That’s not what I mean, Hinata,” Yamaguchi interrupts with a laugh, pulling his long hair back into a ponytail. “You seem…” he hums, rolling up his sleeves. “More like an ace I guess.”

Shouyou goes silent and stiff, and Tsukishima glances over again, smirking. “Looks like you broke him. Coming from the captain, that must make it real, hmm?”

Yamaguchi’s marginally more concerned. “Uh, Hinata? You okay there?” He waves his hand in front of Shouyou’s face. “Hinata?”

And then he suddenly bursts into movement, making both captain and vice-captain swear in surprise, but he doesn’t even notice. “Kageyama!” He yells, and he’s flying across the gym to where Kageyama is practicing serves, the ball balanced on his palm. “Kageyama!”

“What?” Kageyama snaps back, one arm still cocked back in pre-serve. “Wha-wait! Hinata! Don’t—!”

Shouyou leaps and the ball goes bouncing away as he’s caught, the two of them nearly smacking into the back wall before Kageyama finds his balance.

“Stupid! What if I didn’t catch you—”

“Yamaguchi just called me the ace!” Kageyama drops him, but Shouyou lands on his feet, clutching Kageyama’s shirt in his fists and standing on his tiptoes because the weight of his news is just that much. Kageyama is not reacting half the way Shouyou thinks he should, so he starts to say it even louder, “Kageyama! The ace!”

The other boy starts to speak—Shouyou can sense an insult before it happens—but then he clamps his mouth shut and his hands around Shouyou’s wrists and he shoves them apart, rolling his eyes as he walks away to fetch the ball he just dropped. “What the hell? That’s what you’re screaming about?” He picks it up, smacking it a few times against the floor, already eyeing across the court again with that sharp look in his eyes.

Shouyou sort of pities whoevers on the other side waiting to receive that serve.

“But—” But Shouyou’s head is still spinning, and all he can think about is Asahi-senpai and Tanaka-senpai and every other ace he’s ever met. The Small Giant. How scary they are, how they wear the title on their chests like they were born with it. 

“But what? Are you going to stand in my way all practice?”

“But—”  _The Ace, Kageyama,_ he wants to say, but he doesn't get the chance. .

"Of course you are." 

Twice in one day is too much for him. His heart leaps into his throat and he stares, trying to swallow it back down. 

Kageyama frowns, tucking the ball under his arm and fixing Shouyou with that other look, the one like he wants to smack the daylights out of Shouyou. “Oi. What’s with that scared look? We’re going to get revenge for last year, right? You can tell Lev-san that our first years are way better than theirs.”

“Of course!” The response comes immediately. “But—”

“But _what._ What don’t you get?” He shakes his head, dark hair falling into his eyes. Almost absently, he flips it back out of his eyes with a hand—Shouyou doesn’t even blink by now—his voice sounding world-weary, like this should already be understood. “Only the strong get to stand on the court.”

“Yeah, I know! But—” he starts again and Kageyama makes that _other_ other face, the one that makes Shouyou take a wild step back and hold his hands in front of his face, fighting position-ready. _Blow-incoming_.

But no hit comes. Kageyama’s only eyeing the far end of the court again, empty water bottles set up in a straight line. The ball spins in his hands. “We’re not the strongest if you’re not there.” He shakes his head, exhaling softly. “I’m not the strongest if you’re not there.”

Shouyou holds his breath. 

Tsukishima walks past, covering his sly grin with one hand. “My my, what a stupid ace we have.”

*****

 

     **recognition (n.)**

  1.     the perception or realization of something as true.
  2.     the meeting of two souls.



 

 

He realizes at the beginning of his third year, that he's in love with Hinata Shouyou.

It hits him like a bolt of lightning, he practically has to be told, and starts with five words: 

"I got a confession today."

"Oh. Okay," he says, because at first, he doesn't care. It takes him a moment to even figure out what a confession actually is and he churns it through his word bank as he digs through the fridge for a cold milk carton way in the back. Then by the time he realizes, that a confession is a _confession,_ Hinata's already gone, popping through the doors to rejoin the rest of the team outside in front of Sakanoshita.

For some reason, Tobio fumbles with his wallet while he's trying to pay. Then he sends his coins spilling all over the counter and he has to hastily go diving for them before they roll under the crack. By the time he finishes and gets his change back, the rest of the team is starting to separate, leaving only Hinata there, standing expectantly.

"So slow, Bakayama," he says off-hand, like it’s only natural they walk home together, even though Hinata still lives thirty minutes away. Maybe it is natural, but for the first time Tobio's questioning it. Questioning everything. Questioning the person Hinata's messaging on his phone, questioning his own heartbeat and the uneasy feeling in his chest, questioning their relationship. 

Tobio falls into step beside him, if only because he doesn't know what else to do and he's still tripping over the word for some reason.

 _Confession_ , Tobio thinks again. _Hinata got a confession_.

That shouldn't be so strange. He's gotten confessions before too, love letters pushed into his shoe box, girls asking him to come out to the courtyard after school, alone. 

He's hated them.

He hates the way people would stare from behind the corner of buildings, the pure discomfort as he listens to some girl whose name he doesn't even know give a speech that she's probably rehearsed a hundred times over, and then when he gives a response that he can't possibly imagine they couldn't see coming, he hates the way their eyes fill up with tears and how they hurt.

Confessions are terrible things as far as he's concerned.

But he's not concerned, is he?

Hinata is concerned.

(Kageyama is concerned in another way.)

Perhaps that's why he keeps sneaking glances at Hinata, trying to crack the other boy's facade to know what he thought or what had happened.

"Hmm?" Hinata catches him looking, the light from his phone making his features glow. "What? Something on my fa—Oh." The boy's eyes glimmer with understanding. He snaps his phone shut with a grin, leaning in closer. "My confession? Are you interested, Kageyama?"

"N-no!" He stiffens, leaning away from Hinata.

"Do you wanna know how it went?"

"I don't care." He's grateful for the dark, hiding the heat crawling up his collar.

"Are you," Hinata pauses, voice lowering, " _jealous?_ "

He gives Hinata a shove, and the boy stumbles, bursting into laughter, even as Tobio hunches his shoulders, suddenly feeling light-headed. His brain is short-circuiting, firing rapid little firecrackers behind his eyes. It's so obnoxious and irritating and—

_Explains everything._

He presses a hand against his chest to stifle the beating that he's sure is going to give him away, taking a slow sip from his milk as he swallows down this new revelation. Hinata's phone chimes from his pocket and Tobio's grateful for the distraction as Hinata flips it open, reading the message. He sends a response and receives another, just as the bus pulls up to the curb.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Kageyama," Hinata says a bit distractedly, shuffling around his bag for his bus pass. "Oh, and don't worry about the confession."

Tobio tilts his head, confused.

"I'm just like you. Volleyball first, right?"

"Oh," he says stupidly.

Hinata grins, "I just wanted to see your reaction." He climbs onto the bus, waving again. "It was a good one."

Then the doors close and the bus begins to pull away and Tobio's left staring in a haze of exhaust and fumes.

 _Well,_ he thinks to himself, pushing his bangs up with his palm and exhaling a shaky breath. _This is new_.

*****

 

 

**if (conj.)**

  1.     even though;



 

 

In his third year, they’re eliminated from the prefectural tournament in the finals.

Tsukishima doesn't cry, but Yachi does, burying her face in his shirt when they clear the gym. The second years cry too, unusually quiet, and the first years seem to only be in shock, dazed and helpless. It's written on their faces. The captain doesn’t cry either, but there’s a tension at the corner of Yamaguchi's eyes that gives him away, and his voice when he tells them to get on the bus cracks. They all pretend not to notice it, because they’re boys and that’s what boys do.

Takeda-sensei gives a speech. Something kind. About how they put forth their best effort and one day they’ll look back at this and smile fondly. Kindness is cruel, Shouyou thinks, but he doesn’t say a word.

Shouyou doesn’t cry until he sees the sign that says “Karasuno High School” through the bus window and it dawns on him that he’s seventeen years old now and this is it. This was his deadline. 

And then he breaks down, the shock dropping off into a suffocating, burning ache inside of him, his chest heaving as he struggles to breathe. He tries to close out the world, tries to curl himself into a ball. Every few seconds he opens his eyes, hoping to see the dark ceiling of his bedroom so he can convince himself this is pre-match nightmares.

If he had just reached that ball a little sooner. If he had just dove a little faster, jumped a little higher, hit a little harder.

If, if, if.

If he had practiced a little harder, perhaps he wouldn’t be here, feeling so broken and empty and lost, because now what? All of a sudden, he's a third year. There is no next year. There is no vengeance.

He fits himself in the foot space, hiding his face pathetically, even after the tears have stopped. He’s vaguely aware of the bus emptying out, of his teammates touching him on the shoulder, ruffling his hair, squeezing his arm. He doesn’t have it in him to respond and he doesn’t move, not until the bus stop is empty all except for one.

It takes him a few more minutes to gather up his tears.

“We lost,” he says in a watery voice, and Kageyama grunts in confirmation. “We lost,” he says again, and his throat gets tight with another threat of tears.

Then he hears Kageyama shifting beside him, the other boy’s presence coming close and warm. He can tell Kageyama’s trying to squeeze into the foot rest space too, his knee bumping Shouyou’s. Then Kageyama rests an arm over his shoulders and leans his head on Shouyou’s shoulder and something within him breaks softly into a hundred pieces. “We lost,” Kageyama says quietly, and then even softer, “I’m sorry.”

When they were first years—that feels so achingly long ago—he remembers an apology just like this. He remembers fighting, hating an apology coming from Kageyama’s lips, hating the mere thought that their partnership was a mistake. He remembers Takeda-sensei speaking to them softly, telling them that defeat is just a trial to overcome. That the strong will pick themselves back up and fight again twice as hard the next time.

And now perhaps he really has grown up, because Shouyou knows the difference between this apology and the old one, between this situation and that. When's his next fight? 

So he swallows and licks his lips, and he makes an attempt at a brave smile. “What are you talking about? What are you apologizing for?” It’s unconvincing when his voice cracks and comes out a muffled whisper, when he can’t even lift his head from his arms.

Kageyama is quiet for a second. Then, “I told you I’d make you the strongest.”

The, _And I couldn’t_ , doesn’t need to be said.

This time Shouyou does manage a laugh, though it’s still weak and far from sincere. He laughs because his heart will break if he does not. “I said the same thing. Should I apologize too?”

He can feel Kageyama shaking his head against his shoulder and Shouyou manages to lift his head, resting his chin on his arms and exhaling shakily. A thousand things to say comes to mind, but he can’t seem to gather the courage needed to push it out. Perhaps because he doesn’t want to ruin this peace with words. Perhaps because everything that ought to be said is already understood. Perhaps because he’s just so...tired, all of a sudden.

He stares at the ugly patterns of the bus seat until the design is probably imprinted on his eyelids. By then, he’s feeling simply empty, his eyes heavy and itchy from his tears, even though his breakdown itself seems far away and unmemorable.

“Kageyama?”

“Mm?”

He manages a hoarse sound that's nothing like a laugh. “We pay for the bus by the hour. I think we gotta go.”

*****

 

**silent (adj.)**

  1.     his heartbeat.
  2.     what loss feels like.
  3.     the things he wants to say.



 

 

He hasn’t grown up at all, he thinks.

He wakes up absurdly early for a Sunday, stumbling downstairs with red, puffy eyes. His body aches and protests, but he's grateful it's just his muscles and not his heart. That instead, is solely empty, and he convinces himself it’s just hunger, shoveling down all his favorite foods even though he can’t seem to taste anything.

And then he returns to his room, planning to mope and wallow in his self-pity because this is the only moping time he’ll probably have before Natsu tries to cheer him up with games and distractions, or his mom with jokes and chores.

Except as soon as he lies down in bed and pulls the covers back over his head, he’s tossing them off and storming to his closet, jamming his arms into his jacket and finding his phone and dialing, even as he pounds down the hall and out the door before his family can ask.

“Where are you?” he asks, before Kageyama even speaks.

 _“Where else?”_ is all Kageyama says.

He arrives at the park sweaty and out of breath, not bothering to even park his bike as he swings off and lets it crash into a tree. _This isn't the tradition_ , he could say.  _We're only supposed to come here when we win,_ he could say. 

But all he says is “Toss for me," as soon as he gets near enough, and the ball that Kageyama sends him is the exact kind he likes, fast and straight—his greatest pride and joy, a toss made specially for him. 

Shouyou’s jumping before he knows it, imagining the net spread out in front of him, imagining that high wall he thought he’d never see over, imagining the other side of the court, reliving the very last point of his high school career.

The slap of the ball against his hand stings hard enough to bring tears to his eyes, and then he’s running after the ball he’s just spiked, throwing it back to Kageyama and calling for another, his voice breaking.

He loses count of how many times he does this, chasing down the ball, asking for another, hitting it and missing more often than not because his eyes just won’t stop tearing up. And then finally, when he flings the ball back at Kageyama, the only thing that comes out of him is a yell with all of his frustration.

They lost.

They lost and that will never change.

He throws himself on the ground like a child, mouth open wide as he sucks in air, staring at the sky that’s a hundred times too peaceful for how...how _angry_ he is.

Worst, almost, is how badly he’s taking this. The more rational part of him has already moved on, thinking about things like university and careers. Then there’s another of him, the bitter, aching part, that’s angrily asking why he did all of this. Why did he work so hard for three years? What was all his effort for if it was going to make the defeat this much more horrible?

Why did he try?

And in the same vein is the grievous, crushing reality: that he loves volleyball and the only thing that hurts is that it’s been taken away from him. Not like can’t play again, but never again with this team. Never with Yamaguchi, and the second years, or the first years. Never again with Kageyama, not like this.

A shadow falls over and across him. He lifts a hand, blocking out the sun so he can see Kageyama’s face looking down at him.

“What?” His voice comes out rough and he rubs his eyes with the back of his hand.

Kageyama sits by his head, flicking Shouyou’s face with a hand as he does and making him flinch. “Are you done yet?”

“No,” Shouyou retorts, purely out of spite. “Why aren’t you overreacting with me?”

“What do you think I came here for?” Kageyama mutters, running a hand through his hair. He’s made a habit of that, of touching his hair, smoothing down the short, soft cut on the back of his neck, pushing bangs out of his dark eyes. Shouyou pulls his gaze away.

“This sucks,” he says, watching the clouds, and Kageyama grunts in agreement. “I’ve always fought for the senpai, because I knew it was their last game, but this…”

He trails off. The pain from those losses means nothing in the scope of his misery now. Maybe that makes him selfish, but the feeling in his chest is too bitter by far for him to worry about selflessness right now. He rolls onto his side, smothering the achey feeling building up in his chest again before it can grow.

Kageyama’s silence is sympathy and agreement and understanding all in one. Shouyou lets it sit between them before he breaks the silence again. “You think we could have won?”

“Of course.”

“If I hadn’t gotten blocked so much—”

“If I had served better—”

“Your serves were amazing—”

“Then so were your spikes.”

Shouyou lets that settle between them too. Then, “The first years saw me crying.”

“Everyone saw you crying, dumbass.”

He flops back onto his back, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, his voice scraping against something similar to joking. “Dammit! I wanted to be cool at the very end!” That’s not true. At the time, he couldn’t have cared less if he were being cool or not. But now in the light of day, the fact that the only thing he can recall with perfect clarity is the bus-seat fabric looks like is embarrassing.

Kageyama doesn’t respond, not immediately. Then he says, “I thought you were cool,” and god, Shouyou feels his heart do that terrible, horrible flipping thing. He snorts as he sits up, mostly at himself, because what a wonderfully opportune moment to be reminded of his feelings. “What was that?” Kageyama asks, scowling. “You don’t believe me?”

“Your compliments are creepy,” Shouyou starts to wave him away, but then Kageyama punches him in the shoulder and a smile creeps onto his lips and—

He freezes, a thought that should not be a thought starting to spin around in his head.  _Uh oh_ , he thinks for the thousandth time, two years after the first. 

It's gone, he thinks. His reason for holding back all this time is gone. 

His brain is snap-firing, trying to keep up with his mouth, his voice, his heart. It's gone.

“Hey Kageyama—”

“I got an offer—”

They both stop, glancing at each other.

“You first,” Shouyou says, wrapping his arms around himself, resting his chin on his knee.

Kageyama clears his throat, starts again slow. “I got an offer from a university. To play volleyball.”

“Oh.” And then more forcefully, “Oh!” Shouyou feels that whirring in his brain start to settle, easing back into the tracks he’s formed over the last few years. The tightness in his chest is either disappointment or relief and he’s not stopping long enough to find out. “That’s huge! What university?”

“Tokai,” Kageyama mutters.

“What?! Tokai?! Didn’t they win the last college tournament?”

“Last few college tournaments,” Kageyama amends, and Shouyou makes the appropriate sounds of awe.

“That’s awesome, isn’t it? You can keep playing!” He stretches his hands out in front of him, flexing his fingers absently, trying to imagine Kageyama in Tokai’s colors. Black and orange suits him better, he thinks. “Man, playing for the top university in the nation; how cool would that be? Imagine how strong your team would be!”

“Oikawa-san plays for them now.”

“Wait what? Really?”

“Mmm.”

“What’s that face for?”

“I’ll have to beat him to play.” Kageyama murmurs, his expression pained.

“So?” Shouyou twists around, giving Kageyama an incredulous face. “So beat him.”

“How?” Kageyama raises his head, eyes flashing. “How am I supposed to beat him?” There's something strange in the way Kageyama speaks, the roughness in his voice, the way he struggles to meet Shouyou's eyes all of a sudden. 

But Shouyou can't place his finger on it, and his mouth curls into a frown as he speaks. “The same way we did when we were first years."

“But that’s just it!” His voice raises to match his eyes, “Oikawa-san makes every team he’s on work perfectly. Even people he’s never met before. He can make them work like a team within five minutes. How do I beat that?”

“Well, at least you get to play! What about me? You can set to anyone. The only reason I’m any good is because I have you!” The retort comes lashing out of him, fueled by sudden anger he hasn't had another other outlet for. His voice trembles, but he can't stop himself, because he has no other fight. “You don’t get to be shitty and scared like that!”

“I am if you’re not there!”

Shouyou has no response. A chilled wind sweeps over the park, making the grass bend and sway, shimmering like the surface of a pool. Part of him wants to laugh, the other part still wants to cry. How unfair, he thinks. How unfair of Kageyama to say that sort of thing, when Shouyou's angry. When he's sad and jealous and the one without an escape. When he's being _abandoned._  No matter how good his athletic ability is, he can only do it because Kageyama allows him to.

He pushes himself to his feet, flapping his arms to sweep his clothes clean. Then he walks to the ball and picks it up, spinning it between his palms, waiting until the anger dissipates, as if it didn't exist in the first place. Then he places it on his head, shifting his body to keep it balanced on his hair. 

“Hey Kageyama,” he pipes up.

The other boy doesn’t answer, but Shouyou continues anyway. “What sort of ball do I like best?”

“What?”

“C’mon. What’s the best type of toss for me?”

Kageyama narrows his eyes, his expression wary, even as he speaks, “You're the only one that can keep up with my quick. Obviously.”

“And Tsukishima?”

“Slow, away from the net. He likes to decide what sort of toss he’ll use on his own.”

“Kawamoto?”

“He’s best with inside cuts, so wide tosses and close to the net.”

“Hiroshi? Seita?”

“What the hell are you talking about? What is this for?”

“My point,” Shouyou says, catching the ball before it falls, “is that you know everything about this team. You know people’s weaknesses and their preferences. How’s that any different from what Oikawa-san does?”

“It’s—”

“The exact same,” Shouyou finishes. He lobs the ball at Kageyama. “We beat him as first years, just think of it like your chance to beat him as a setter, one on one. Of course, that doesn’t mean you’re going to beat the grand king in terms of personality. Good thing the scouts don’t know what a bad attitude you have, right?”

He yelps, dodging the ball that comes shooting for his face. “That! That’s the bad attitude! You better work on that, Kageyama.”

“Asshole,” the other boy grunts, rising to his feet and dusting off his pants. “If that was meant to cheer me up, it failed.”

“Did it really though?” Shouyou shoots back with a laugh, running off after the ball. He tosses it up into the air, doing the same fancy running jump serve he’s seen Kageyama do a hundred thousand times. He has only half of the power, none of the aim, and Kageyama catches it effortlessly.

Shouyou watches him as he jogs back, watches the look in Kageyama’s eye as he spins the ball, watches the softest curl of a smile on Kageyama’s lips, watches the way Kageyama seems to stand straighter, stand taller.

His entire body fills with love; heart-flipping, pulse-stopping, unreturned, unneeded love. He comes to a stop a few feet away, and when he speaks, he tries to concentrate on that feeling inside of him. His voice doesn’t shake, but his hands do, stuffed into his pockets to hide the tremors.  “You better do your best, even against the grand king. You’re representing Karasuno now, you know.”

Kageyama’s response is satisfying.

Endearing, because it's from Kageyama and for no other reason. 

“I know that, stupid. Don’t tell me what to do.”

*****

  

**chance (n.)**

  1.     don’t lose it.



 

 

Two months later, Shouyou gets an offer of his own. He’s concerned for a moment he’s mishearing, that this is just a figment of his imagination and then he’ll wake up and have it all snatched away. But they’re looking at him expectantly and he gives only the barest nod of his head because he isn’t sure how to process all of this at once.

“We’re a relatively new school, but our volleyball program is shaping up to be excellent this year. We can definitely use a young man of your talents and experience. What do you say? Would you like to come to Kyoei?” 

 _Talents,_ echoes in his brain. 

And then they say, “We’ve also recruited a young setter from Tokyo who we’re sure will best complement your abilities,” and Shouyou sort of stops listening, because his first impulse is to say no, his setter is Kageyama, he doesn’t need anyone else.

And then reality kicks and he reminds himself that this is the choice he’s made. This is still the best chance he’s ever going to get, Kageyama or no.

He accepts.

And then he announces it to the team, gleefully absorbing their praise and admiration.

Yachi comes close to tears, saying she’s got to tell all the senpai now because no one’s going to believe this.

(The hug she gives him makes his ribs creak.)

Yamaguchi says they ought to throw another celebration because Kageyama got one.

(Shouyou gives _him_ a hug.)

Tsukishima says it ought to be twice as big, because both of the idiot duo getting scholarships is basically the end of the world so they’ve got to get their kicks in now before apocalypse now.

(Shouyou just kicks him.)

Kageyama only smiles when their eyes meet through the team’s celebration, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, the way he does when he’s got something he wants to say. “Later,” he murmurs, and he ruffles his fingers through Shouyou’s hair as he passes, before heading off to round the first years back into order.

 _you up?_ is the message he receives ‘later’.

Shouyou quite happily flips away his homework, rolling into bed with his phone. _Yup! Math homework is the worst!_

_congrats on your scholarship._

_heh! not as fancy as yours tho_

_not surprising._ A second message comes in before Shouyou can send off an annoyed reply. _that you got one I mean._

 _u said that already, bakayama_ he replies, laughing into his screen.

For a moment, no reply comes and Shouyou wonders if Kageyama’s fallen asleep. It’s not like that hasn’t happened before—such things tend to happen when they spend every night talking until the middle of the night.

But then his phone rings, so suddenly he drops it on his face. He rights it with some effort, his fingers suddenly numb, throwing his blanket over his face to muffle his voice.

 _“Hello?”_ Kageyama’s voice is warm against his ear. _“Hinata, what the heck. Are you there?”_

“I’m here, I’m here. The phone surprised me.”

_“Why are you whispering?”_

“It’s like two am. My mom’s gonna come in if she finds out I’m talking to you instead of studying.” There’s no response, and Shouyou frowns. “Are _you_ there?”

Kageyama huffs, _“I’m here.”_

“What are you calling for?”

There’s another silence, but this one Shouyou waits out, if only because he doesn’t want to risk talking.

 _“I was thinking,”_ Kageyama says slowly.

“Dangerous,” Shouyou says.

_“I’m going to kill you tomorrow.”_

“Worth it.”

 _“Anyway,”_ he says peevishly, _“I just_ —... _congratulations.”_

“You said that already.”

 _“Just_ — _just shut up for a second, alright?”_ He sighs noisily and Shouyou stifles his laugh with a yawn, burrowing himself into bed as he waits, balancing the phone on his cheek. _“You know at the park that day? After we lost.”_

“Mmm,” he responds, because he’s sort of been trying to forget selective bits of that memory.

 _“I’m still scared about it_ —Don’t _interrupt me_. _Just listen. I’m still...scared, I guess. But what you said helped, and I’ll do it. I’ll do my best. You will too, right?”_ A long pause, and then, _“You can talk now.”_

Shouyou closes his eyes, smiling. “Kyoei’s gonna win everything.”

He thinks he can hear something like relief in Kageyama’s exhale. _“Yeah right.”_

“No really! I’m gonna be the ace and—oh my god! What if we challenge each other in the tournaments! Kageyama, I’m gonna tell my team all your secrets and we’re gonna take you down.”

 _“Good luck with that,”_ he says.

“Nobody takes the underdog seriously! Though I guess it’s more satisfying to wipe the smile off the grand king’s face—” He hears a sound from the hallway that makes him pause, covering his mouth with a hand and holding his breath, hoping no one comes. “Wait,” he whispers, “I think my mom’s up.”

_“Go to sleep then.”_

“I probably should.” He tries not to let his disappointment show, but it’s always harder in the middle of the night, when things are quiet and softer and the morning feels so far away. “Hey Kageyama?” He takes a breath, trying to decide whether or not this is his bad judgment speaking.

_“Mmm?”_

He tries to imagine what Kageyama looks like on the other side. If he’s lying in bed, or if he’s seated at his desk, little lamplight on. He tries to imagine Kageyama mustering up the courage to text him first this time, giving up and calling in frustration. The thought makes him plunge on ahead, bad judgment or no. “I’m gonna be the strongest, with or without you.”

As soon as the words leave his lips, he wants to take them back and fix the way it sounds like he doesn’t want Kageyama. Like he’s abandoning their partnership to be selfish. Like the last three years were a failure.

But then again, perhaps it _is_ selfish in the end. Only the strongest stand at the top, and that’s the view Shouyou wants to see. Hasn’t he always been climbing over people to reach it?

The only difference is that time he was running with Kageyama at his side, and now it’s just him.

‘Scared’ doesn’t even cut it.

But the other boy is only quiet for a second, his breathing unchanged, the meaning understood loud and clear. _“First to the top wins then.”_

(Shouyou would’ve kissed him.)

*****

 

**changing (adj.)**

  1.     everything.
  2.     make it stop.



 

 

 _“I’m here!”_ he remembers.

He remembers that moment, the shattering of his crown, the cloak on his shoulders falling away. He remembers the feeling of the ball against his fingertips, lights in his eyes, and god, the way he flies. Hinata’s there, he was always there.

But now he’s not.


	2. but I feel your heart beat, just like mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I lied. In a plot twist which surprises absolutely no one, I took about a month and a half longer than I was supposed to.  
> This chapter alone turned out to be nearly 15k, so I'm extending this fic an extra chapter. Four is a nice even number, right? ; o;  
> ssssSorry...I'm not sure this chapter was worth the wait...I'll get my shit together I swear-!!
> 
> anyway, carry on. and maybe listen to great songs while you do.  
> [Holla Mears - Made in Heights](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MIPAGx_AkIo)  
> [Nights Like This - LP](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2yOTfs0s3f4)

 

 

_“Hinata, do you like me?”_

_He holds his breath until the hurting stops._

_Do you want it to be easy? Do you want to stop?_

_“I don’t.”_

 

 

* * *

 

In his first year of high school, Hinata Shouyou falls in love multiple times.

First with volleyball, with the feeling of the ball against his palm and the view on the other side of the court. He falls in love more deeply than he ever thought he could, and it starts to have less to do with the Small Giant, and almost everything to do with arrogance, or selfishness, or a weird mix of the two.

He wants to be the best.

He wants to be unstoppable and strong, to see what else he’s been missing all this time. He’s small and clumsy and more often than not, cowardly, but when he steps on the court he forgets all of that, so excited he can hardly stand it.

Perhaps it’s almost fitting, like that poetic justice Take-sensei likes so much, that the other thing he falls in love with is the reason he can stand on the court at all.

It’s a boy, no less, which makes things confusing for a time. But then he has a surprisingly wise talk with his little sister and she sits him down and says very seriously, love is love, Nii-chan. Take care of it.

So he does, because that’s simple enough advice and simple has always worked best for him.

He takes care of it in his own simple way, clumsily but with everything he has. The way Kageyama smiles, the things he says, and the things he doesn’t; Shouyou takes care of them all.

In his first year of high school, Hinata Shouyou falls in love multiple times, and no matter what he does, he never quite falls out.

 

 

In his first year of high school, Kageyama Tobio does not have time for love.

He’s on a mission, and love, while registering vaguely on that growing list of things that _should_ be important to him, is not on the other list, the one of things that _are._

 _That_ list has always had volleyball on it, first and foremost. He’s addicted to strength, to gaining it and proving it. Whoever has it gets to stay on the court longer and that’s all he’s ever wanted.

But then, slowly, and almost without him noticing, the list grows. While not written down explicitly, love is on it.

Beside volleyball, beside his need to grow strong and unstoppable, there is a name that means love. 

He’s not sure how, but Hinata Shouyou manages to be simultaneously, his rival, his partner, and his best friend.

In his third year of high school, Kageyama Tobio stumbles almost blindly into love. Once he realizes it, he doesn't know how to get out.

*****

 

 

     **present (n./adj.)**

  1. being, existing.
  2. a gift.



 

 

A week before graduation, Tobio writes a list.

On it, he has thirteen names, separated first by year and then by class, and then one more time, in order of difficulty or how much he’s dreading it.

He takes care of the lower classmen in bulk. One day, one hour. The first years see him coming and they start to hide, but then he catches Tsuya and makes Endou get the rest, and before long, there’s six of them standing in front of him in various states of anxiety.

He regards them all slowly, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck, short hair bristly under his touch. He shoves his hands under his armpits instead. “Uh, be sure to take care of the new kouhai,” he starts, even though he knows that’s rich coming from him. He can feel himself starting to regret this, so he hurdles on, racing towards the finish. “Sorry I couldn’t take the team to nationals, but we were strong. Are strong. Just work hard, and I’ll support Karasuno no matter what.”

“Yes, senpai!” They chorus back, and even though they make it sound like he’s some sort of drill sergeant, like he’s _brainwashed_ them or something, he gets something scratchy and hot in his chest that stays with him for a while.

It takes him a day to recover from that.

But the sight of a few names crossed off his list is reassuring when he gets back to work.

The second years are harder, at least to gather all at once. But that’s exactly why he’s given himself a week, and slowly and surely, he marks the names off one by one.

Miyamoto starts to cry before Tobio even starts speaking, but this much is practically expected. When he tries to give Tobio a hug though, he draws the line. “I’m sorry!” Miyamoto cries, stealing Tobio’s lines, “I really wanted to help you senpai get to nationals! I wanted to win as a team!”

“Have you ever seen an ace cry this much?” Sasaki mutters at his friend and Tobio just watches on, seeing the shadow of the new team taking shape, seeing the places he and Hinata and Tsukishima and Yamaguchi all stood, slowly replaced. He wonders if this is what his own senpai thought about, if they felt the same sense of distance he has now.

It’s not his team anymore, he realizes slowly, and the thought is something close to sad.

With four days left, Tobio finishes the list. Sudou is the last second year, the setter Tobio’s trained himself and the new captain. After Tobio says his part, the other boy only looks thoughtful. “I’ll carry the team as best as I can. We’ll win next year, and we’ll keep winning. Come watch us, senpai, if you can,” he says, but it sounds different somehow. Final, somehow.

Tobio nods, taking note of the way the boy said “we” and who that included. Who it didn't. “Yeah,” he says, “if I can.” 

*****

 

 

**absent (adj.)**

  1. not in a certain place at a certain time.
  2. away, needed, missing.



 

The night before graduation, Shouyou writes a letter.

It starts with “Three years sure goes by fast, doesn’t it, Bakayama?”, and ends with “Have fun in Tokyo!” written on a single page of messy handwriting with little taped on post-it notes.

The post-it notes are a staple of their friendship at this point and thus, he feels them necessary to include.

It started with a fight; something unmemorable and undoubtedly inane. But Shouyou remembers peeling a sticky note from his stack, of scribbling something and then crumpling it up, flicking it at Kageyama—one row left and two rows up—when the teacher wasn’t looking. 

He doesn’t remember what the note said, but he remembers the way it hit Kageyama in the ear and the glare he got for that.  He remembers Kageyama finding it, cracking it open behind his book. He remembers the way Kageyama leaned forward and away, how there was the flash of a smile before it was hidden from view. He remembers hiding his face the rest of class too, because he couldn’t stop himself from grinning, like a fool, or blushing, right up to his ears.

 _Ah, youth_ , he thinks to himself, a bit sarcastically.

It took about two weeks and maybe fifty requests before Kageyama finally sent one back to him. Almost unconsciously, he finds himself fingering that scrap now, buried at the bottom of his box with all the others. He can find that one almost without looking, like his fingertips can recognize it just by touch, because of how many times they’ve folded and unfolded it. Then he pushes it back down to the bottom because that one is his. 

When he finishes his letter, he half regrets it. 

It’s not a love letter, he tries to tell himself, staring at it when he’s done. Even if letters are a romantic gesture in and of itself, even if the notion of writing your thoughts and feelings into existence is, of sending it to a particular person with the intent of giving them those sentiments. Even if Shouyou is actually a romantic at heart, if loving the same boy for three years isn’t proof of that already, this is not a love letter.

 _But it feels like one_ , he thinks hopelessly to himself, and he wonders at that. He wonders if his entire body is betraying him, mind and heart, the same way he sometimes catches himself staring at Kageyama’s back, how his fingers itch badly when their hands lie close together, when he finds himself leaning into Kageyama’s space like a satellite falling into orbit. Sometimes he itches to touch, to hold and feel, and sometimes it’s simply a thought, like he’s grateful they ever met that brings an unsubtle smile to his lips.

He doesn’t mention volleyball. He doesn’t mention his feelings. He doesn’t even use the word love, not a single time.

So it feels like one, because he’s neglected to mention any of the things he loves and so now they just shine through, like needlepoint holes that let in the light.

When he's written so much, the absence of all the things he loves, Kageyama among them, feels as obvious as any confession would. 

*****

  

**goodbye (n.)**

  1. a conventional expression used at parting.
  2. easy. he can do this.



 

 

He does Yamaguchi first, because Yamaguchi is the captain. He’s also easy to find—college prep classes spend their entire day in their classroom since it's exam period—but more importantly, Yamaguchi doesn’t give Tobio ulcers at the thought of it, not the way Tsukishima does.

He does laugh though, when Tobio pulls out his list and shows him the names, crossed out one by one.

“I’m next, then?” he asks, and he steps back and folds his hands politely behind his back, giving Tobio a nod to go ahead.

Somewhere between “Captain” and “please don’t cry”, Yamaguchi ends up a crying wreck and Tobio ends up wrapped in another watery hug. This one, at least, is not quite as heavy as the dogpile the first years put him through and he bears through it with minimal distress, patting his captain on the back until they detach. 

“I told myself I wouldn’t cry about graduating,” Yamaguchi says, dabbing his eyes. “but I wasn’t expecting a goodbye this early, auuugh. Surprise attack, hm?” He gives a stuffy laugh, blowing his nose into the handkerchief that Tobio gives him and then exhaling, his shoulders dropping. “How did the lowerclassmen take it?”

“...loudly,” he recalls, but then he adds, almost as an afterthought, “Sudou will be a good captain though. Their team is strong.”

Yamaguchi beams. Maybe it’s the good cry he just had that makes his eyes seem to sparkle even brighter than normal. “You think so too? Tsukki picked him out and he’s usually right about these things."

There's a moment of quiet, Yamaguchi looking down at his fingers with a small smile on his face.

"You know," he says softly, "before I used to wonder if the senpai resented us for having another year while they had to retire, but now that I’m in their place, I'm sort of just..proud? Like a parent or something.” He tugs at his bangs, a little sheepishly. “Is that strange?”

“I don’t think so,” Tobio replies, unfolding his paper and pulling a pen out of his pocket. “We were a team, and we only got as far as we did because of them too. You want them to do well either way.”

He scribbles out Yamaguchi’s name against the wall as Yamaguchi himself watches on. There are just two names left when he’s done and Yamaguchi speaks them both, gesturing down the hall. “Hitoka-chan and Tsukki are next door. Do you want me to get them?”

“I’ll do it,” he shakes his head, folding up the paper and sticking it back in his pocket.

“Is there a specific order? Did you already do Hinata?”

At that, he tilts his shoulder self-consciously and gives a slight shake of his head.

“Saving him for last?”

“Something like that,” he mumbles, because that’s easier than the truth. The truth is that he simply doesn’t know what to say. Words have never been his specialty and with Hinata sometimes it’s even harder, partly because Hinata is stupid and partly because Tobio isn’t used to caring, at least not this much, not this intensely.

Yamaguchi makes a sound, drawing his attention back to a little grin hidden behind his knuckles. “Hinata’s one lucky guy, huh?” At Tobio’s questioning look, Yamaguchi grins a little broader. “Anyone loved that much is lucky, don’t you think?”

For a moment, Tobio studies his captain, wondering if there’s some deeper level of meaning to Yamaguchi’s pleasant words. But the other boy merely lets out another sigh, linking his fingers behind his head. “Goodbye’s are hard, aren’t they?”

Hard isn’t necessarily the word Tobio would use after this. Awkward maybe. Or embarrassing. But he scratches behind his ear and gives a shrug-nod, to which Yamaguchi accepts with a nod of his head.

“Sometimes it’s easier to not say anything at all.” Something changes in his voice, and Tobio finds himself searching the other boy’s face again, wondering. “I wonder if sometimes, it’s kinder to say nothing at all.” This he says softly, with a quiet look that Tobio can’t read. And then he smiles, touches Tobio on the shoulder as he disappears into his classroom, and says sincerely, “Good luck with the rest, Kageyama.”

*****

 

 

**goodbye (n.)**

  1. not all need to be spoken.



 

 

‘So you won’t tell him?” she asks, perched on the railing beside the street. She looks at him sideways, the streetlights creating shadows on her face, hair pulled out of her eyes.

Shouyou scuffs his shoe against the ground. “Yacchan, this again?”

“I’m _sorry_ , Hinata, but I still think you ought to say something.” She really does seem reluctant to bring it up again, her words slow and carefully chosen, but Shouyou still can’t help but feel a flicker of annoyance.

He’s explained it to her before, about how he wants to work hard at volleyball and he knows Kageyama wants the same. And it’s not just that. They’ve graduated and they’re going to different schools and there’s a whole list of websites in his search history that says long distance relationships will never work out.

Not that he was ever in a relationship in the first place.

“Love can wait,” he says, with an emphatic shrug of his shoulders.

He says as much, but he’s increasingly aware of the letter he has stuffed into his bag. Ungiven and unopened. He still hasn’t made up his mind about that one. 

Yachi is silent a moment, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear over and over again. The door of the restaurant in front of them slides open, a pair of young children spilling out and their parents soon following. Both of them watch the family go, their conversation momentarily paused. When they’re gone, she asks quietly, “Can it really?” and the way she looks at Shouyou is silencing. Like she knows something he doesn’t.

Still, it doesn’t shake his confidence, and he merely grins at her. “It’ll be fine, Yacchan. If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be, right?”

She cracks a smile and he knows he’s got her. “That’s pretty romantic, Hinata.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” he jokes back and she draws finger and thumb across her lips, throwing away the metaphorical key. “Oh, I see them, I see them.”

Hopping off the rail, he offers Yachi a hand, but she waves him away, landing softly on her own two feet and following him as he goes up to meet the trio coming down the sidewalk.

“Late!” he declares, and he laughs at their reactions: Kageyama’s retort, Tsukishima’s disdain, Yamaguchi’s hasty apology. He’s in a laughing mood, he thinks, even though Yachi’s words hover over his head.

_Can it really?_

“Where’s your apology, Kageyama?” he asks, waiting for the other three to pass by before he falls into step beside Kageyama.

“We’re on time,” the taller boy defends, hands tucked into his pocket.

“Late,” Shouyou insists, and he laughs as Kageyama shoves him half-heartedly, bouncing back and trailing the group into the restaurant. He catches a whiff of cigarette smoke before they’re guided down one hall and shuttled into a booth with a curtain draped over the front for some privacy, and he slides in after Yachi, Kageyama bringing up the end.

“So,” he says brightly, “we’re celebrating right?”

Tsukishima undoes his scarf, hanging up his and Yamaguchi's coats. “Is saying goodbye really a call for a celebration?” 

“Does that mean you’re sad about saying goodbye, Tsukishima?”

“I said no such thing—”

“So, everyone know what they want?” Yamaguchi and Yachi interrupt simultaneously, shoving colorful menus in front of Shouyou and Tsukishima’s faces. Still snickering at the other boy’s expression, Shouyou settles back down on his little pillow, tucking his legs under him and leaning over to see what Kageyama’s looking at.

“Whatcha ordering?”

The face Kageyama is making is amusingly similar to the face he makes when he’s watching replays in the club room, but Shouyou’s feeling charitable and festive and he opts out of making a joke of that.

“Can’t decide between okonomiyaki and monjya.” He folds his bottom lip between his fingers, glaring at the page like it’s personally offended his mother.

“Wait, they have monjya, too??” He flips through his book, his eye settling on another appealing fullspread. “Wait, they have pizza!”

“Pizza? Where?” Kageyama glances between their menus, trying to find the same page Shouyou is on.

“I think this place is famous for their karaage,” Yachi chimes in, and hastily the two of them search for _that_ page too, trying not to get distracted by anything else coming up.

“Hamburger,” Tsukishima adds unhelpfully, and Shouyou is right about to start another argument when a chime goes off above his head, the sound to call the waitress.

Yamaguchi laughs mischievously, finger on the button. “It’s supposed to be a party right? Let’s just get everything.”

“Oi, Yamaguchi…” Tsukishima grumbles.

“I still don’t know what to get,” Kageyama complains.

“Are you sure we can afford it?” Yachi worries.

But Shouyou beams across the table, just before waitress pokes her head in and asks if they’re ready.

“Captain,” he says, grinning broadly, “I think I love you.” 

 _That's romantic_ , he imagines Yachi saying. 

Yamaguchi smiles back. “Let the third year graduation ceremony begin!”

 

 

“I’m getting full just from watching them eat,” Yachi mumbles weakly, leaning against Yamaguchi’s shoulder. He, in turn, is leaning against Tsukishima’s, who holds a drink lazily in one hand.

“What?” Hinata asks, “Isn’t this normal? I’m a growing, active young man.”

“You haven’t played volleyball in _weeks_ ,” Yamaguchi points out, and Hinata just shrugs, reaching over Tobio for a plate of teriyaki chicken wings and replacing it with his own empty one.

“More for me, then.”

“For _us_ ,” Tobio corrects with his mouth full, chopsticks in one hand and a pizza slice in the other. “Don’t hog the chicken.” 

To be fair, it is actually a good question. Tobio’s never understood how Hinata’s tiny little body can pack away roughly the same amount of food as his own does. They’ve got a good twenty centimeters between them now, not to mention Tobio sometimes thinks he can wrap both his hands around Hinata’s waist and touch his fingertips together, but he rationalizes that considering how many steps Hinata takes just to keep up, he’s burning off energy at a ridiculous rate.

“I’m not paying for them,” Tsukishima adds, picking at a slice of cake in front of him. For how big Tsukishima is, Tobio also can’t understand how _little_ food _he_ eats. And then chasing it up with a couple slices of cake? That just seems like an illogical use of stomach area.

“We’ll figure out the check later. More importantly,” Yamaguchi shrugs his shoulder, giving Yachi a little push. “Is it time yet?”

“Oh! Yeah, we should do that!” She sits up, pulling a paper bag out from behind her and beginning to rifle through the contents.

"Time for what?”

“For gifts! Yours. Before you leave for Tokyo.” Yachi beams, and she’s suddenly holding out a bundle to Tobio that’s half-ribbon, half-plastic, colored dark blue. Her smile is shy. “It took us a little while to gather everything, but I’m glad we finished in time.”

Hinata next to him is noisy excitement, vibrating in his seat, but Tobio scrubs his hands on his napkin before he even dares to pick it up. The package crinkles under his fingers and he murmurs a soft thanks, feeling suddenly embarrassed.

As far as he can tell, it’s a square brown box, covered in dark blue tissue paper and then again with clear cellophane wrapping. The ribbon is big and extravagant, torn into little strips and then curled to look festive.

Hinata gives him a nudge in the side. “Open it!”

“Now?”

“Yep. I want to see your reaction.”

“We all do,” Yamaguchi snickers, and even Tsukishima looks like he's stifling a smile.

All of a sudden, Tobio is nervous. But he ducks his head and begins pulling at the bow, undoing the ties with his fingers. When he gets it open, he slides the box out onto his lap, tissue paper falling under the table.

Hinata swipes the rubbish out of Tobio’s way and he pries his fingers under the lid, pulling off the cover to reveal the gift underneath.

He recognizes what it is immediately—a signature board, because he has signature boards at home and he knows what those look like. But this one is framed, with cut out shapes that are meant to be black and orange team uniforms, and it isn’t until he looks closer that he realizes it's _his_.

_Kageyama Tobio, #1  
Karasuno Setter_

It's written in smooth even script, Yachi's elegant handwriting easy to recognize, but it's the other messages that gets to him. Hand-written messages, from every member of the team. The _entire_ team. He recognizes Suga-senpai’s writing immediately, even though it’s been two years since he’s seen anything but a list of hand signals scribbled on a paper, and Tanaka’s and Noya’s seem to be competing to see which can be more attention grabbing.

And beneath his thumb, so familiar he's almost afraid to move and read it, he sees the edge of a line.  _As long as you’re here—!!_

“We only just got Daichi’s letter yesterday, so it got delayed a lot,” Yachi explains. “But all of the senpai are on there, and all of the kouhai, of course.”

Right in the center, just above his name, is a picture that he vaguely recognizes. It’s a photo, from their very first year, of he and Hinata, looking like he’s about to take off.

“It’s one of the posters I made back in first year, to recruit new people to the club.” He glances up to see Yachi smiling across the table at him. “Our super oddball combo. And the messages themselves were Hinata’s idea—”

“Yacchan!” His eyes shift over to Hinata, the boy’s face turning red.

“A-ah, s-sorry, Hinata!” She covers her mouth with a hand.

Tsukishima interrupts, “It’s fine, isn’t it? Kageyama’s embarrassing and sentimental too, apparently. Actually, if anything, coming to talk to each of us with a goodbye speech is even worse.”

“Goodbye speech?” Hinata echoes. 

“I thought it was sweet,” Yachi murmurs, and Yamaguchi nods.

“I wasn’t expecting it from Kageyama, but messages like that are nice, aren’t they?”

“ _What messages_?” Hinata asks again and Tobio hastily interrupts, crumpling the cellophane plastic up as loudly as he can and coughing unconvincingly at the same time.

“Oh.” Then a second later, “So you still haven’t talked to Hinata yet?”

Tobio shoots Tsukishima a dirty look.

“Talked to me? About what?”

He can feel Hinata’s eyes on him, but he finds it impossible to meet that gaze. Instead he clears his throat again, rubbing his finger against the hard edge of the frame. It doesn’t help that he’s fighting a lump in his throat, his eyes skittering away from the orange #10 jersey just under his thumb, where Hinata’s message has been scribbled.

“Later,” he says finally, and he half-expects Hinata to argue...but he doesn’t.

There is a pause instead, that ends when Hinata shrugs and gestures again at the board in Tobio’s lap. “Well? Do you like it? It’s so you don’t forget about us while you’re all the way in Tokyo. Good right? You’re totally the type to get caught up in whatever team you’re on, so don’t forget about us, okay?" He adopts a solemn tone, "Say it with me: Karasuno is the best team you’ve ever been on.”

It seems he’s over his embarrassment and wholly intent on bragging instead. Tobio is okay with that. As Hinata carries on, Tobio lovingly replaces the cover and carefully sets it on top of his jacket and under his scarf, so he’s certain he won’t forget it.

He sits up. “Karasuno is the best team,” he says seriously, with finality, and even though he can see Tsukishima and Yamaguchi exchanging glances out of the corner of his eye, he looks only at Hinata.

It’s probably the best gift he’s ever received in his life—Hinata can brag if he wants to.

The boy himself only looks a little surprised, then he tilts his head and grins. “That works too.”

*****

 

**catalyst (n.)**

  1. the first time.
  2. don’t forget.



 

 

“It’s like, if sharpness had a smell.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Or like...the smell of cold.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“It does! Winter has a definite smell, and I can smell it.” He steps onto the curb, his arms thrown out for balance. “Soon winter will be here, just trust me.”

“Or you can look at a calendar.”

“You’re just jealous.”

“Of?”

Shouyou breathes even deeper, exhaling a plume of white smoke. “Of my amazing sense of smell.”

“I don’t need that,” Kageyama says, but he laughs under his breath as he says it and Shouyou sneaks a glance.

He grins at the sight of the present, tucked under Kageyama’s arm like it’s precious.

“What?” Kageyama catches his eye.

Shouyou bypasses the question with a nonchalant hum, stepping on and off the curb. “When are you leaving?”

“Sometime Sunday.”

“Ready?”

“Mmm, some packing to do still.”

Shouyou spins around a lamppost and Kageyama drops onto the bus stop bench, fighting back a yawn.

“How do you still have so much energy?”

“Dunno,” he spins some more. He is tired actually; he can feel sleep right behind his eyelids if he stops long enough. But he doesn't want to sleep and so he doesn't stop, staying in motion instead. “Maybe I’m just happy.”

“Why?” 

“Dunno,” he sings back. He's always happy, he thinks, but he doesn't know how to put that to words. His voice carries in the cold air, just like the sound of his footsteps, going round and round. “Are you happy?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Right.” Shouyou makes a thoughtful noise. The stars pulse like strobe lights above him, beyond the glow of the streetlight, making his eyes spin.

Happiness for him is endless, something he carries inside even when he has bad days. Or especially when he has bad days, when he feels hot anger beneath his skin, or heavy, choking grief against his chest. Even on those days, he knows its only fleeting, that tomorrow or the day after he'll wake up in the morning and feel better. Happiness is like that, coloring every other emotion he has, always present and within reach. 

“Are you excited then? For university?” He stops circling long enough to hear the answer. It takes a while for the world to stop spinning too, but when it does he studies Kageyama carefully, trying to see through the shadow falling across his face.

Kageyama leans forward on the bench, the box held in his hands. “I guess?”

“Have a little more enthusiasm than that.” Shouyou bounces to the bench, plopping himself down beside the other boy. “You’re going to have to make first string, and I’m going to have to make first string, and then we’ll challenge, right?” Shouyou presses his face against the other boy’s sleeve. It smells faintly of smoke from the restaurant, but underneath there’s Kageyama’s smell and for a second, Shouyou breathes in his eyes closing, sleepiness setting in—

“On opposite sides of the court,” Kageyama murmurs and Shouyou props his chin up on his shoulder. The boy grins at some memory. “That’s like first year, when you got angry we were on the same team.”

Shouyou pulls back. “You didn’t wanna be on the same team either, Mr. I-only-toss-to-people-I-need.”

“That was before,” Kageyama mutters defensively, and Shouyou grins, because he’s forgiven that a long time ago, probably around the same time he fell in love.

“And now?”

Kageyama looks at him, blue eyes looking gold in the light. Their faces are only inches apart and Shouyou can see every eyelash and every shadow. “Now it’s different,” Kageyama murmurs, and Shouyou feels his smile falter.

 _Oh no_ , he thinks.

He pulls back, sliding into his own personal space, wrapping arms around his middle to stop himself from doing something stupid. “You’re in a weird mood,” he observes instead. “Are you already homesick?

He half expects denial, so it catches him off-guard when Kageyama just pouts and mutters, “So?” like a challenge.

His eyes widen. “You are?”

“So what if I am?” Kageyama crosses his arms, shifting away from Shouyou slightly.

“You don’t seem the type.”

“I’m not heartless, asshole,” he grumbles.

Kageyama’s kind, Shouyou knows that. So he forgives that insult too, letting it slide right off him. “Mmm, I’m definitely going to get homesick. Like for my mom’s cooking.”

“My own room.”

“I’ll miss Nacchan.”

“My mom.”

“My mom too.”

“Nikuman from Sakanoshita.”

“Oh my god, I nearly forgot. Ugh, I might miss those most.”

“Not friends?”

“Well of course.”

“Coach and everything?”

“Well maybe...”

“Tsukishima?”

“Maybe not.”

Shouyou bursts out laughing.

Kageyama hides his grin behind his hand, speaking thoughtfully after a second, “If my team’s blockers are no good, I might miss him a little.”

“Then add him to the list.” Shouyou's laughter starts to subside and he feels pleasantly warm again, his chest pop-firing with little sparks. He’ll miss this too, he thinks, a heck of a lot more than he’ll miss pork buns or Tsukishima’s commentary.

“Kageyama?”

“Mm?”

“Will you miss me?”

Kageyama doesn’t reply.

Shouyou supposes he should speak up, maybe change the subject and save himself, but the distance that university will bring looms over him and perhaps a sadistic part of him really wants to know.

Or maybe it’s a masochistic part, judging from how long the silence is stretching.

“What’s taking you so long?” He nudges Kageyama’s leg with his foot, feigning anger. “It should be automatic! Automatic! ‘Yes Hinata, I’ll definitely miss you because you’re my—” heart beat pause and he exhales it like a sigh, spiraling into the air with all the rest of his words as if it isn't any more significant than the rest, “—best friend.”

Kageyama glances up suddenly and Shouyou stops himself from laughing.

“Hey Kageyama, we’re friends, right?” Kageyama glances at Shouyou, expectantly, and he nods, adding with a roll of his eyes, “and rivals and all that.”

“And all that,” Kageyama echoes him sarcastically under his breath.

“I’m not gonna _forget_.” He pushes himself up, spinning on the balls of his feet. “I won’t lose until I beat you, and you won’t lose until you beat me, right? Or something like that.”

“Hey, I’m serious.”

“I am too. _Obviously_. But it’s the last time we’ll see each other in who knows how long. Let’s just be friends tonight, alright?” His shoes scuff the ground. “Hey, you should tell me when you get settled! I wanna see your place.”

“I don’t want to.”

“What? That’s rude even for you—”

“Not that. The just friends part. I don't want that.”

Shouyou stops spinning. 

“What?” he asks again, even though he heard perfectly clearly what was just said.

“Not just friends.Th-they mentioned a goodbye speech in the restaurant and I..." he trails off, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "I don't—didn't—know how to say one for you." 

His fingers hold the package so gently and carefully, Shouyou thinks, and this all falls into his memories. Later he'll think about how the light made Kageyama’s silhouette glow, how his face was too serious, brows pinched together and expression honest. Kageyama was always honest, he’ll think, and he won’t even know how to fall asleep when his heart is being so loud.

Right now though, he doesn’t think at all. He can’t. He feels his head is stumbling, the metaphorical equivalent of a record player going off the track. That scratchy, glitchy sound.

“I don't want to say goodbye, I guess. Because I like you.” Kageyama rubs the back of his neck, raising his eyes to meet Shouyou’s. Suddenly they’re too close, even though there’s a few feet between them. Suddenly it feels like Kageyama’s boring holes right through his skin. Like he’ll melt if he stays seated any longer. 

He panics. 

“Kageyama, c’mon that’s not funny—”

“It’s not supposed to be.” He can see Kageyama frowning, even in the low light. “I wouldn’t joke about this.” And Shouyou knows that’s true—he knew even before he said that. Kageyama is always honest, always straightforward and sincere. But honesty isn’t what Shouyou wants. Not right now.

Right, now, honesty is terrifying.

Honesty laughs in the face of three years of unrequited feelings, of all his effort.

“I didn’t know whether or not to say it.”

Shouyou squeezes his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms, searching for words. 

“Wh-why then? What do you want?” His voice breaks over the words and he winces, trying to gather himself but not able to. He flinches every time his voice cracks. “Y-you’re here for two more days and then I might n-never see you again. W-why are you s-saying th-this now?”

Kageyama is quiet a moment, and Shouyou can hear his heart throbbing in his ears. He’s not sure what answer he wants, what answer he isn’t terrified of.

Then Kageyama sits back and releases a breath, softly. “That’s not a no, is it?”

“Just _answer_.” He's begging now, head and heart flying in two separate directions, betraying him both ways. 

“Nothing, I guess.”

“Nothing?” Shouyou echoes, incredulous. Or disappointed. Or shocked. Angry.

Sad.

He’s not even sure whatever he’s feeling is directed at Kageyama. Maybe it’s at himself.

What’s that screaming in his ears? Why is his skin on fire? Why can’t he keep his voice from trembling? Why can’t he stop his body from shivering?

“I don’t know. You said I leave in two days—”

“Then don’t do this!”

Is he speaking too loud?

Is he shouting?

“Do what?”

“Say that! Say stuff like that! Say that you...”

“That I like you?”

“That! Stop!”

Is he crying? He’s vaguely aware of his nails digging into his palms, squeezing his eyes shut.

“But I do like you—”

“Well stop!” he says, and his voice doesn’t crack. It sounds like an order, and when he dares to open his eyes, Kageyama’s staring back at him, surprise in his expression giving way to...anger? Shouyou’s heart stutter stops.

“I can’t.”

“We’re both guys—”

“Obviously.”

“You’re leaving in two days—”

“So?”

“—so _stop_.”

“I can’t.” 

“You’re so—!” He fumbles for answers, answers that he knows exist but seem to float just out of reach. They were all there just seconds ago. More than that, weren’t they there the last three years? But they’re lost—or obscured—because of the stupid... _hope_ , floating just inches away from his fingers. The thought that if he reached out, maybe...

He thinks about a park, about hot tears rolling down his face, about words he's never dared say aloud. 

"That's not a no." 

Shouyou's voice is a whisper. "Stop." 

Kageyama’s voice is stiff and defensive, breaking apart Shouyou’s thoughts. “If it's that easy to stop, don’t you think I would?”

It takes him a moment to realize why that one feels like a punch in the stomach.

 _It's impossible,_ he reminds himself, the same way he has for the last three years. 

When he speaks, it's his heart speaking, he knows. Hope speaking, surfacing, while every other logical part of him tries to drown it. “Do you...want it to be easy? Do you want to stop?”

A pause.

A sigh.

Then, “No,” he says. “I don't.” 

 _Always honest_ , he'll think to himself and he won't hate it. 

Shouyou lets the silence grow between them until his eyes stop stinging and he’s certain his voice won’t waver. His letter will never be sent, never be given, never be read. He’s certain of it.

“Hinata, do you like me?”

He holds his breath until the hurting stops. 

_Do you want it to be easy? Do you want to stop?_

“I don’t.”

*****

 

 

**breathe (v.)**

  1. how does it go again?
  2. in, and out.
  3. repeat.
  4. it shouldn’t be this hard.
  5. why is it so hard?



 

 

_“My name is Hinata Shouyou! You better remember it!”_

_“King—”_

_“Don’t call me that.”_

 

 

_“It’s just, even if we weren’t friends, when we stood on the court, I thought we were partners.”_

 

 

_"As long as I'm here—"  
_

 

*****

 

 

**diverge (v.)**

  1. to move in different directions from a common point.  
         *not to be confused with **parallel** , where two remain equidistant at all points and never converge.



 

 

“—Shouyou?” Kenma’s voice comes through stuttery and warped.

Shouyou plugs in his headphones and jams them on his head, flicking up the volume so he can hear. “Sorry, the internet is bad. What’d you say?”

“I asked, how’s college?”

“Oh.” He makes himself comfortable, pillowing his blanket against his chest and under his chin. “It’s, um, big?” he says and Kenma stifles a laugh. “Are you sick?”

“A cold. It’s fine. You don’t know?”

“Well I mean, I keep getting lost. Like every day kind. Are you resting?”

“I’m fine. Kuro gave me medicine.”

“But sleeping?”

“I’m fine.”

“You have to sleep, Kenma!”

The boy sniffles a little, ignoring him. “How much longer are you going to get lost, Shouyou?”

“It’s really big, okay?” he says defensively, and Kenma laughs. Shouyou smiles into his pillow. “But it’s fun. Oh and we just had our first volleyball match last week!”

“How was it?”

“Intense,” he says seriously. “I dunno how, but the guys are all scary big. I didn’t get to play much, so that sucked. I’m not allowed to play until Igarashi—the setter—and I start to work together better, but—” He makes a frustrated sound.

“He’s not Kageyama?”

“Something like that,” Shouyou sighs loudly. “It’s like first year all over again.”

“Kuro said the same thing,” Kenma says, a bit thoughtfully.

“Said what?”

“He said it was hard getting used to a different setter after me. All setters bring out different things in the players, or something.”

“Really? Is your volleyball team good? Maybe we’ll challenge you guys one day.”

“Kuro says they aren’t bad. He keeps trying to get me to join...” His voice tapers off.

“You should!” Shouyou says immediately. “Then I can play you again!” Kenma doesn’t reply, glancing offscreen. “Busy?” Shouyou makes an educated guess, and Kenma shrugs, which essentially means yes.

“I’m having fun with classes,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. Shouyou can sense when he’s getting antsy, so he doesn’t complain when Kenma changes the subject. “Have you talked to Kageyama much?”

Shouyou hopes his wince isn’t apparent through the camera. “Not subtle.”

Kenma pops a bag of chips that sounds like thunder. “I wasn’t trying to be.” 

“No,” he finally says, with a drawn-out groan. “I mean we text sometimes…”

“Sometimes?”

“Every few days. I don’t know what to talk about.” He muffles another groan, suffocating himself into his pillow. He doesn't admit that that's an exaggeration—that they talk maybe once a week tops, that the distance between messages has been growing and growing. After a moment, he lifts his head and speaks, his voice a little quieter. “I don’t get it. I don’t remember ever not having something to talk about with him. But all of a sudden, everything feels so awkward and—” He trails off, unable to find the words.

It wasn’t like they parted on bad terms, as awkward as that was. Kageyama had seemed normal, as if that night hadn't even happened. And Shouyou knows that's for his own benefit, but it  _had_ happened and it  _isn't_ normal. Not anymore.  _  
_

Kenma is quiet a moment, then he asks, his voice soft, “Do you still like him?”

“No," he says immediately. Then, "Yes. No. Maybe?”

“You don’t know?” Kenma asks again, and Shouyou shrugs.

“I dunno.” The other boy is quiet save for the crunch of his chips. Shouyou can practically smell the judgement, coming right through the screen. “It’s better. And volleyball. I still want to play volleyball.”

“Uh huh.”

“He’s far away too. What was he even expecting?”

“Uh huh.”

“He didn’t even say he wanted a relationship—”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

Shouyou tilts his head questioningly.

“You can get over him now.”

Oh.

“Oh,” he says, and suddenly he’s glad for the terrible internet and his poor, awful camera. “Yeah, maybe,” he finally says, and he gets the distinct feeling Kenma’s staring at him hard. There’s another urge to groan.

Why is it when it comes to Kageyama, everything has to be so difficult?

When he asks as much aloud, Kenma just shrugs, his eyes flickering offscreen again, his fingers tapping over the keys, doing something else. Something less dramatic and useless and annoying, Shouyou thinks dismally to himself. He’s begun to even annoy himself, still thinking about a boy that’s like five hundred miles away.

_Five hundred eighty seven._

Kenma sneezes, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Love isn’t worth it if it isn’t difficult, right? Oh, have you played the game I told you about?” 

*****

 

**grow up (v.)**

  1. to fully develop, as in mind or body. 
  2. in short, basically incomprehensible.



 

 

“I’m Kamiya Raiya.”

He blinks.

“You can call me Kamiya. Or Raiya if you want. I don’t really care about the whole senpai, kouhai thing.” The boy thrusts out his hand and Tobio stares at it for a second before his body catches up and shakes it. “Kageyama, was it?”

He stands in his dorm room, staring at the floor and walls, sort of wondering how he got there. He’s lived nearly eighteen years not knowing this place existed, and all of a sudden, it’s meant to be his home. For two years, the RA girl had said when he checked in.

“Mm,” he replies, trying to take it all in and struggling. There are posters on the wall, replicas of paintings that even he’s heard of before. They end exactly at the halfway point between their halves of the room and his side can’t help but feel even more empty because of it.

“Where are you from?” He pulls his eyes away, watching the boy cross to the desk and sit. Save for the posters on the walls, everything about him is minimalist. His desk is neatly arranged, a small cup of pencils and pens sitting beside a row of organized books.

“Miyagi.” He sits at the edge of his unmade bed.

“Ohh, not too far then! I’m from Osaka, but most people here are from Tokyo anyway. What’d you come to Tokyo for?”

“Volleyball.”

“Really? So you’re a sporty type. I suppose you do have that look.”

“What look?”

“The sporty one.” Kamiya laughs, picking up a pencil and spinning it in his fingers.

If they’re talking about looks, his new roommate has a smart one. Carefully managed hair, fashionable clothes. He looks comfortable in his surroundings and Tobio just feels a little more out of place.

“I heard our volleyball team is actually pretty good these last couple years, is that why you chose Tokai?”

He shakes his head, “Scholarship.”

“Whoa, so you’re the real thing. If you want, I’ll go support you in matches.” He sounds sincere as far as Tobio can tell. Perhaps that’s where his confidence comes from.

“Do you like volleyball?”

Kamiya laughs again. “Do I look like I do?” When Tobio doesn’t reply, he only laughs a little harder. “Naw, I’m more the stay indoors and read a book type. I’m an art major. You’d never guess, right?” He grins, gesturing at the posters on the wall. “But if you’re good enough to get a scholarship, even I might be a little interested in checking you out.”

Tobio doesn’t know what to say to that, but he manages a small smile and a nod, getting to his feet and starting to set up his bed.

He can feel his roommate’s eyes on him, but he keeps working steadily, laying out the futon and spreading the bed sheets over it, tucking them under the corners with some difficulty. Apparently, it’s pretty obvious he’s struggling, because the next thing he knows, he’s being nudged out of the way, Kamiya giving him a pillow, a clean pillowcase, and a grin.

“Do this instead,” he says, and turns to the bed, throwing the sheets and doing them with smooth grace. “My family owns a ryokan,” he explains as he works. “I guess that rubbed off on me.”

Tobio shuffles the pillowcase over the pillow, keeping out of the other boy’s way.

“Oh, I guess we should lay some ground rules, huh?”

“Ground rules?”

“Mmm.” Kamiya starts on the blankets, putting a clean sheet on the comforter. “My previous roommate was the worst. Business major or something; thought the whole world revolved around him. I couldn’t say anything cause I was just a first year, but don’t be like that, alright? If you have something you have a problem with, just let me know. We’re meant to live together for a whole year after all, let’s make it easier on the both of us. Is that cool with you? Pillow.”

Tobio hands it over, letting the other boy place it at the head of the bed. “It’s fine.”

“Excellent. Anyway, if you can just keep your side of the room clean, I’d be grateful. Laundry is done once a week. If you’re a sports guy, try not to forget about laundry, right?” He laughs, fanning out the blanket and then folding it at the foot of the bed. “I’m a bit picky about cleanliness, sorry if that’s annoying. I’ll try not to make too big a fuss, but you don’t seem like a messy type so I’m a bit relieved. I sometimes stay up late, but if you want I’ll study in the hall instead. Ah, and—” he turns to Tobio with a pointed glance in his eye. “As far as, uh, intimate encounters go, if you can give me some sort of heads up—”

Tobio chokes.

“I mean I guess you’re in your first year and you have stuff you want to do. I don’t really like the subtlety of a sock on the doorknob, but—”

“I’m not—”

“I don’t mind. They aren’t all that strict here, cause our dorm is co-ed anyway—”

“No—it’s—”

“You’re a regular guy, it makes sense if you want to—”

“I won’t,” Tobio blurts, and Kamiya raises a brow. “I won’t,” he says again, more insistently.

“Well, if you say so.” He waves a hand, stepping back into his half of the room. “You’re good-looking, I’m sure it’ll happen sooner or later.”

“It won’t,” Tobio repeats a third time, and this time Kamiya seems to listen.

“Ah,” he says, his eyes lingering. There’s a meaning to that, but Tobio doesn’t know this language. He only knows Karasuno’s. Hinata’s.

Home’s.

Why’d he ever leave again?

Kamiya drops into his seat. “Then I guess we’ll get along pretty well.”

*****

 

**extracurricular (adj.)**

  1. fun, right?



 

 

"Did you see that? Did you see it?! I almost got it!" 

"That wasn't bad," Kanou grants him that, hiding a small smile. 

Shouyou lets out a laugh, already circling back to his starting point. "One more, Igarashi!" 

The man standing at the net frowns. "What do you mean, 'that wasn't bad'? That was fucking awful." 

"I'll get it next time!" 

Igarashi flicks hair out of his eyes. "Next time? What do you think you said  _last_ time? How are you gonna get past blockers with that speed? You can go faster can't you?" 

"Ummm," Shouyou bounces from one foot to the next. "Y-yes?"

"Then go faster."

"But—"

"Just tell me how to help you go faster and I'll do it."

Igarashi is nothing like Kageyama, Shouyou thinks, but he can't help trying to compare them. He imagines Kageyama standing where Igarashi is, imagines what his partner would have done in this situation. "Maybe toss it a little higher?" 

"Maybe." 

If he were paying more attention, he might've seen this coming. 

"You _think_? _Maybe_?" Igarashi echoes. 

"Uh, Igarashi..." Kanou murmurs. 

The setter holds up a hand. "No, I'm getting tired of this.  _Maybe_? What sort of spiker doesn't know what sort of toss he wants?" 

Shouyou fidgets. "That's..."

"Are you just dicking around with me? I don't have time for this."

"T-that isn't it—"

"Then what is it? Last game you ran into Matsu like four times. I can't believe the coach doesn't take you out." 

"It's just—"

"Just?" He narrows his eyes and Shouyou withers under that gaze. "I get it. Kageyama Tobio, he's a genius. I heard you the other five billion times. Fine, maybe I'm not as good as this Kageyama asshole. But what sort of spiker are you? Are you saying you can't play without him?" 

"No!" He blurts it out without thinking, because he doesn't know much, but he knows that's the one thing he's not allowed to let happen. "No," he says again, more quietly. 

Kanou takes another step forward. "Igarashi, that last hit was good, wasn't it?" 

"Sure it was good. But I didn't come here just for  _good_. This is—" he stops himself, expression foul as he slaps the ball against the ground, the smack echoing every time it hits the floor. "Forget it. I'm done." 

"Igarashi—"

"I-Igara—" Shouyou starts, panic welling up in him. His hands itch and he fists them in his shirt, all the euphoria from his singular clean spike evaporated completely. 

"Just for tonight." Igarashi sighs. "I've got a test tomorrow, my girlfriend's mad about _everything_ , and my shitty job is trying to give me more fucking hours...and I don't have time for this." He tosses the ball over his shoulder, and it rolls to Shouyou's feet. "You can call me when you figure it out, Hinata." 

Kanou looks at him with pity and that hurts just as bad. 

*****

 

**amend (v.)**

  1. to change for the better, improve.
  2. to grow, or become better, by reforming oneself.



 

 

“Tobio-chan, that practice was awful. You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to pass me.”

“I know,” he keeps the snap out of his voice with great effort, but he knows it’s true. He’s a far cry from Oikawa’s level. Of course it’s hard to match up to Oikawa’s two years of experience with the team, he knows, but even as a setter, Tobio can’t help but think he’s losing.

Has volleyball always been this difficult? 

He stares down at his hands, his fingertips tingling from his last toss. Not the good kind of tingly either. They feel numb. Unresponsive.

Disobedient.

“Oikawa-san.”

“Hmm?” The other boy dries his hair with his towel, still dripping from his shower. 

“Was it ever difficult for you to not be on the same team as Iwaizumi-senpai?”

“‘Scuse me?” He raises a brow, and Tobio curls his fingers into a fist at his side, a sense of foreboding looming. 

“Is it difficult not—not having him? Because you two were always together?” 

“I’m not so weak a setter I need to have one particular player to be good, Tobio-chan. A setter has to be able to boost the entire team, not just his favorite player.”

Ah, there it is. Regret.

He lets out a breath in a low hiss, restraining himself from retorting. Perhaps he does deserve that; it was obvious what he was asking, after all. “I know, but—”

Oikawa laughs. “Are you missing the chibi that much?”

Tobio doesn’t reply. Oikawa’s got an annoying habit of always being right, Tobio thinks, surveying his upperclassman through sullen eyes.

“He’s too good a player for you to be blaming him for being awful now, Tobio-chan.”

“I’m not blaming _him_.” He flushes with embarrassment the same way he flushes from pride for Hinata.

“Who then? Yourself?” Oikawa laughs again, wiping dry eyes with a dramatic finger. “Ah, Tobio-chan, you’re so innocent. But Iwachan says I ought to stop bullying you, so hmm...how about this?” He sticks his head out from behind his locker. “Want to go out to dinner?”

Whatever he’s expecting, it isn’t that. “What?”

“I’ll even treat you—especially since you’re probably still eating awful microwave food, you poor first years—”

“But why?”

He watches as Oikawa twirls the tips of his hair. “Can’t I do something nice for my precious underclassmen every now and again?”

Tobio waits out the truth.

When Oikawa catches his expression, he just rolls his eyes and sighs. He adopts a neutral tone, the frivolity gone for once. “I ought to help my team get stronger. Coach wants to try you in a practice match soon, bump you to first string as my replacement, so you better improve before you make our school look bad—”

“First string? Me?” His eyes widen. But he’s playing so _awful_.

“Replacement, Tobio-chan, don’t get carried away—”

“I’m getting put on first string?”

“I know. _Shocker_.”

He pokes his head out again when there’s no reply.

“Are you serious?”

Tobio nods.

Oikawa rolls his eyes. “They don’t just willy-nilly devote an entire practice to a setter, Tobio-chan. For crying out loud, you’re making me actually look mean.” He clasps his hands together, raising his eyes skyward. “Iwachan," he sighs, "I just want you to know I’m doing my best here.”

“I got it already,” Tobio growls, flushing again. “So you want to take me to dinner?”

“Yes!” Oikawa shuts his locker door with a bang, pulling his bag over his head. “Come along, Tobio-chan. Can you drink yet? How old are you again?”

“Eighteen in a month. And you’re going to help me?”

“It is the duty of the senpai, Tobio-chan, as much as we both may hate it.”

“I don’t hate it.”

Oikawa casts him a glance over the back of his shoulder, eyes flashing for a brief second before the doors close behind them and the winter night swallows them up.

“I want to be better.”

Oikawa is unimpressed, turning back and leading the way across the courtyard, towards the parking lot. “Oh boy. Geniuses who works hard, too. I always got my work cut out for me.”

*****

 

**to voice (v.)**

  1. _Don’t_ , he tells himself.



 

 

The moment the final game of his high school life ended, Shouyou had searched for Kageyama.

He had twisted, searching the court, looking for his partner, looking for some form of confirmation that what he thought just happened most certainly didn’t.

That was why he had seen it.

Not anger, or shock, not even sadness. Just...nothing. He had seen the expression Kageyama wore for just a split second, uncomprehending, frozen, replaying over and over that last point, as if there were something else he could do.

And then Kageyama’s clock had kept going, stuttering and jumping seconds, trying to catch up to what was lost. His expression, contorting, registering it and trying to deny.

But he had seen it.

Sometimes in the middle of the night, when Shouyou lies in bed trying not to let his thoughts drown him, that expression is among them. Anyone else, he’d pick up the phone and call, but when it comes to Kageyama, things have to be different.

He isn’t waiting for Kageyama to call and break the silence; he was the one who rejected him after all, he’s not expecting forgiveness or friendship. But the days keep passing and every time Shouyou thinks to himself that today ought to be the day, he remembers.

He’s seen Kageyama’s look of grief, and he can’t call. Because that high school game was only the first time Shouyou’s seen it. The second time, he was the one who put it there.

 _I don’t,_ he remembers, and then he can’t seem to say a single thing. 

In some roundabout way, he thinks that maybe he can prove it was worth it by becoming the absolute best on the court, with or without his setter. That way what he did feels a little less like a fuck-up and more like a surrender, something with a meaning and purpose and a _reason._

Then he thinks he’s being a coward and he rolls over in bed and he whispers to himself in a moment of weakness, when he’s certain his roommate won’t hear.

“As long as you're here.”

Months later, he misses Kageyama so badly it’s suffocating. He wonders how it is that three years is all it takes to burn a person into his chest, so deep that the scar never goes away. It hurts at night, when his fingers ache with the weight of an entire day left untold and no one waiting on the other end of the line. It hurts in the middle of the day, during class, when his eyes shift down a track one row left and two rows up, when there’s no one there and his words go unheard and unvoiced.

It hurts worst though, in the morning, when his dreams wash away the instant he opens his eyes and all that’s left is a single thought that haunts him the entirety of the day. Like the thought that, if Kageyama loved him, how many of those smiles had really been just for him?

He wakes and even though the sun chases away all his other problems, he can’t help but see even more clearly the human-shaped hole, illuminated by the light. It greets him with a shy smile that only he knows, and he wonders to himself how much longer he’s going to be in love.

*****

 

**attrition (n.)**

  1. a wearing down or weakening of resistance.
  2. things change.
  3. _people_ change.
  4. And time keeps going on.



 

 

It’s far from school.

The elevator hasn’t worked in apparently months.

The landlady likes to glare at him every time they pass in the hall.

The walls are too thin to stay warm in winter. (The walls are too thin for anything, actually.)

He still doesn’t have any furniture save for a thousand yen table.

It’s tiny and cramped and it’s all he can afford, but it’s tiny and cramped and all _his_.

Well, his and the neighbor’s little brown cat, who seems to think she owns the entire building, and has a habit of sitting right outside his door whenever he comes back from school. But he likes Ame-chan, likes the idea of “owning” a cat, likes sitting in the middle of his empty living room with a convenience store bento in his lap and watching her crawl across the floor, chasing the sun for her naps.

He has a new routine, and it has nothing to do with Hinata Shouyou.

Sort of.

His day always starts with a run. The point, he thinks, is to run until he’s lost. Tokyo's good for that, or maybe it’s just in comparison to his seventeen years of Miyagi knowledge that makes every stone path and winding side street in this sprawling city feel confusing and new.

 _Or_ maybe it’s just desperation, the only time of his day where his mind doesn’t think about anything except runaway trains and running away. 

Not from anyone in particular.

Sort of.

For some strange reason, Hinata Shouyou and volleyball have become irrevocably linked, which is pretty frustrating considering ninety percent of his life revolves around playing the sport and the other ten consists of everything else.

Ten percent counts as 'sort of', right? 

During classes, he can't help but think about practice anyway though, mostly because he's intent on getting off of the bench and starting in matches. It's not like second string is awful, to be clear. He's getting lots of practice with the other players, not all of them who are as polished as the first-string guys. 

Second string isn't awful. Second string was Sugawara-senpai, and that was a tactical move, part of the reason they won that year. Sugawara-senpai brought something different to Karasuno. ‘Steadiness’ was the word, whereas Tobio was supposed to be ‘unpredictable’. But then Oikawa is ‘ace of all trades’ and Tobio is not ‘unpredictable’ if there’s no one who can keep up with him. 

Second string isn’t awful, it’s just not first.

If Oikawa weren’t there, he’d be first string, first player, but just that knowledge isn’t enough. So he borrows keys from the captain, and rolls out the nets, and wishes, quietly to himself, that Hinata were there, right before he serves the ball two hundred times.

“You need to stop being so uptight,” Oikawa says.

Tobio pretends not to know what he’s talking about.

It might have something to do with the “notes” he takes in the middle of class: things to work on for each player, potential arrangements for every team they face, new techniques and plays for everyone to memorize. Perhaps also the way he spends an extra hour after practice on his own, working on serves until his knees shake.

“You’ll hurt yourself if you keep that up,” Oikawa says, and Tobio stubbornly looks at everything _but_ the brace Oikawa wears permanently around his knee and murmurs stubborn denials.

A challenge is _good_. A challenge makes him feel like he’s doing it for himself, like he’s no longer useless without his old team.

His.

Sort of.

Because in the moments before he falls asleep, he thinks of we and us and _as long as I’m here_ —

See?

Sort of.

Before he falls asleep, the world starts to go quiet. During summer, if he opens the window, he can hear the last train running, the sound going on and on, until he starts to think that the line will never stop. Sometimes it gives him dreams of trains, a line of cars a hundred miles long, rattling on empty tracks. He likes that sound, echoing between houses and winding streets and across stone bridges, and it makes him feel like the world is a lot bigger than he thinks it is.

He likes his university and the team and his new life.

He likes his apartment, even with the broken elevator and freezing winter and cranky old landlady.

He misses things. Weird, specific, intangible things. Like seeing his mother drink out of the mug he made for her in elementary. The ringing of the school bell every period. The courtyard covered in snow, or the cicadas in the trees surrounding the track, so noisy it hurts if he stops to listen, but background noise if he ever stops. Even the back of the boy’s head who sat in front of him and the direction his hair would whorl.

Things like that would all exist in Tokyo too, if he lets them, but he also misses the things he knew he would.

His mother’s cooking, the smell of home, Karasuno.

Aggravatingly, he misses Tsukishima just like Hinata said he would.

And he misses Hinata Shouyou.

But he’s getting better. Getting over him.

Sort of. 

He misses Hinata Shouyou—just like he knew he would—but only every other day.

*****

 

 

**recovery (n.)**

  1. the regaining, or possibility of regaining, something lost or taken away.
  2. time required for recovering.
  3. something that is gained in recovering.



 

 

“Niichan!”

Natsu comes streaking down the sidewalk, leaping before she’s anywhere near, and making Shouyou drop everything to catch her.

But he does, catching her around the middle and spinning from momentum. Her legs latch around his waist and she buries her face in the crook of his neck. He nearly falls over, her hair tickling his cheek makes him laugh.

“I missed you,” she murmurs, when her laughter subsides. The sudden lump in his throat forces him to whisper it back, and her chin digs hard into his shoulder as she tries to get a glimpse of his face. “Nii-chan, are you crying?”

“I don’t cry,” he snaps gruffly, shrugging her off of him. She bounces on the balls of her feet, bursting into laughter again.

“You can cry, Nii-chan.” She ignores his protests, continuing on like she doesn’t hear him. “I said that to Maru-chan in class last week and then he cried all through music class until Tama-sensei got mad at him.”

“You got him in trouble?”

“Nooo, you’re not listening. He got _himself_ in trouble, because he wouldn’t stop crying.”

“Why was he crying?”

“Because Saya-chan in class two said she didn’t want to go out with him anymore.”

“Maru-chan and Saya-chan were going out?”

“Mhmm. Because Saya-chan said she liked Maru-chan.”

“And now she doesn’t?”

“No, I didn’t say that. She still does.”

“Then why did they have to break up?”

“Saya-chan has her reasons, I’m sure.”

“Oh, I see.” Shouyou’s brow furrows. In fifth grade he was worried about what was for dinner, not any of this. _Kids these days_ , he thinks, feeling old.

“So what’d you bring back for me?” she asks, tugging at his sleeve. “Did you get the cake I asked for?”

“I got it, I got it.” He extracts himself from her grasp. “Is it really that good? I had to wake up at six just to line up and then they only open at eight—”

“Hana-chan said it was really good and since she’s not coming anymore—”

Shouyou winces and Natsu’s eyes go wide, her mouth already starting to open in an apology. “It’s okay,” he interrupts, forcing a smile. “It’s already been a couple weeks.”

She places a hand on his sleeve. “Nii-chan...are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he lies, forcing a smile. What’s one more lie among the many?

_I like you too._

_I'm happy I have such a cute girlfriend!_

_No, there’s not anyone else I’m in love with._

“Sleepy from waking up that early mostly. I’m the best older brother, right?”

“The best!” she agrees, breaking into a smile.

He’s saved from making up another lie as his mother catches up, opening her arms wide for a hug, and he all but falls into it, breathing in deep and wondering how a person can smell like home. She ruffles his hair, the same way she always does, and he gets a strange lump in his throat that has nothing to do with ex-girlfriends and first loves he’ll never get over.

“New haircut?” She asks, as they separate.

“Mmm, got it last week. Do you like it?” He touches his new bangs self-consciously, rolling a few strands between his fingertips.

 “I like it! Nii-chan’s the handsomest!” Natsu chimes in, picking his backpack up and slipping it on her back. It sags down to her butt, but she sticks her thumbs beneath the straps, bobbing happily at his shoulder.

“You’re just saying that because I brought you cake.”

Natsu laughs innocently as she skips off towards the car, and he glares at her back.

“She’s happy you’re back for her birthday. You wouldn’t believe what a fuss she’s been making all week, waiting for her nii-chan to come home.” His mom smiles softly at him, accepting the plastic bag with its precious cargo. “So what’s the haircut for? Looking for a fresh start?”

“Something like that.” He touches his hair a bit more before he notices her watching, then he snaps his hand down to his side.”It’ll be cooler in the summer, and better for volleyball, and stuff?”

He flushes under the look she gives him, but then she only shakes her head and smiles. “It’s good. I like it. Makes you look older, more mature.”

She wraps her arm around him, guiding him towards the car. He’s grown since the last time he saw them, now nearly a head taller. She doesn’t even seem to notice, just resting her head against his shoulder. “You know last time she came to visit, she didn’t even offer to help do the dishes? I knew I didn’t like her.”

“You _loved_ her.”

“I did _not_. I know she was a guest and all but she didn’t even offer. And cake? Who brings cake as a gift?”

That one gets a laugh out of him. “You don’t need to, Kaa-chan. I’m past _that_ stage.”

“Oh really? Drat, I was brainstorming some really good ones all last night.” She’s got little crow’s feet at the corner of her eyes; he wonders why he’s never noticed before. “Well? What stage are you at?”

He makes a show of thinking. “The one where I glare at anyone who’s in a relationship and then go home and think I’ll never be in love ever again.” Or something like that. He thinks that’s how the movies go.

“There’s a cure for that.”

“What is it?” He pops the trunk, tossing his bag in on top of the mess already inside. “If you tell me one of Grandma’s veggie drinks—”

“Alcohol.”

“ _Kaachan._ ”

“It’s true.”

He slides into the backseat, inordinately pleased when his knees press against the seat in front, frowning when Natsu slides her seat forward into place without taking into account his fleeting dreams. Is nineteen too old to still hope for a few more centimeters? “I’m not even old enough, Kaachan, my birthday only _just_ passed.”

“Well if you were going to...your father must have some left in the fridge, I’m sure.”

“Can I have some too?”

“No, _you_ cannot.”

“Boo.”

He stifles a laugh, wondering how in just five minutes, he feels like he’s never left Miyagi at all. Like the last two years haven’t happened.

 _I’m home._ Shouyou announces to no one, gazing out the window and wondering, the same way he always does every time he comes back to visit, why things never seem to change. Karasuno, his hometown, Miyagi in general. _He’s_ changing, why doesn’t anything else?

Not that he doesn’t like it. It’s nostalgic and familiar, the feeling like he’s come home after a very busy day and no matter what happened that day, everything here is still waiting for him.

There are new buildings here and there, of course, and he straightens up a little when he sees a new park, craning his neck to see if there’s a net.

Then it disappears behind a row of trees and he settles back, trying to imagine a time when he won’t jump up at every mention of volleyball. When the sight of a court won’t make him immediately think about jumping and about flying and about…

“Hey Niichan?” Natsu peers through the hole in her headrest, twisting around in her seat.

“Mm?”

“Is Tobio-nii coming back too?”

About that.

“Dunno,”  he shrugs. “Why?”

“I miss him.”

“More than me?”

“Well it’s been longer since I’ve seen _him—”_

“Thanks.”

“I missed you too, Niichan. But it’s been _so long_ since I’ve seen Tobio-nii and I talk on the phone with you a lot—”

Their mother drums her fingers against the steering wheel, breaking into the conversation in a musingly conversational tone, that’s all the worse because she doesn’t mean anything by it. “I like Tobio-kun. If he’s back, you should invite him over.”

Shouyou can feel his sister’s eyes boring into him, but he doesn’t look at her, fixing his attention stubbornly outside the window.

Time keeps going on. He’s changing.

He _is_.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’ll ask.”

He doesn’t.

*****

 

 

**catalyst (n.)**

  1. a person, thing, or event that precipitates a change.
  2. once more.



 

 

“Hey Kageyama, you sure you want to work up til you leave? You’re welcome to take off a few days early and rest before you head back.”

“Is it troublesome?” he asks, eyes wide.

Ukai pauses, lighter flickering at the tip of his cigarette, “That’s not what I’m sayin’. Jus’...it’s not like the pay is that great, and most college students don’t like waking up at the asscrack of dawn.” He cracks open a window, waving the smoke out of the small room. In reality, it’s just a shed, but there’s a little table pushed up against the wall where they eat breakfast and a row of lockers. The heater rumbles in the corner, doing its best to fill the tiny room.

“No, I’d like to work. As long as I can.”

His (ex)coach cracks open a window. “Saving up for something?”

“Just rent. I live alone and it gets expensive.” He kicks his feet out of the heavy boots, still wet from the snow. 

“Oh wow, that’s impressive. When I was your age, I was still mooching off my parents.”

Tobio pauses, popping the buttons on his coveralls. “Don’t you still live with your parents?”

“I pay rent, oka—look, that’s not the point I’m trying to make. It’s just impressive is all. Going away for university on a scholarship, living alone, all that. Makes me almost wanna take credit for it.” He laughs to himself and Kageyama declines responding.

Truth be told, it’s not that impressive. Rent in Tokyo is far more than rent in Miyagi, and it’s not like he has the luxury of working while he’s juggling practice and school. In reality his mother’s probably paying for everything; what he makes this break will be over by spring and then where’s he going to be?

If he were honest, he’d admit that this is all just to take up his obscene amounts of free time.

So, “No,” he says in the end, zipping up his jacket. “I’m thankful you’re letting me work.”

“Naw, you saved me. Now that my mom’s health is getting worse, taking care of the fields is too much work for just me and Dad. Surprised me when you came in and asked for a job. Didn’t even know you were back in Miyagi.”

“Didn’t mention it to much people,” he mumbles under his breath, pulling on a jacket and sitting down on the bench to shove his feet in his own shoes.

Ukai sits up when Tobio stands, knocking a bit of ash from his cigarette. “You need a ride home?”

He shakes his head, “I’ll walk.”

“You sure?”

He nods, swinging his bag over his shoulder. “Thank you for the hard work,” he says with a bow as he leaves, and Ukai mumbles it back. He’s only taken a few steps, his boots crunching in snow, when the door squeaks open and Ukai sticks his head out again. “Oi, hey Kageyama, I nearly forgot. Wanna drop by practice?”

“Practice? Like at Karasuno?”

“Yeah, of course Karasuno.” Ukai shivers, pulling the door as closed as he can without smooshing himself. “The third years will probably be excited to see you again and you can help out a bit.”

“Really?” His eyes widen and he can’t help the flicker of excitement that sparks inside him. “When?”

“I scheduled a practice match for tomorrow. Alumni against current players.”

“I’ll go!”

“Yeah. If you ever want to come by, just lemme know. There’s no pressure if you can’t; Sawamura’s coming, Tanaka stayed in Miyagi so no surprise there. Oh and Hinata. I mean we don’t have a setter, but worst case scenario I’ll send one of the students over to alum's side.”

Tobio doesn’t reply, processing it.

“Anyway, let me know. It’s cold and I’ll see you tomorrow.” Ukai sticks up a hand in dismissal and promptly shuts the door, leaving Tobio standing in the snow with a dumbstruck expression on his face.

 

 

He returns home in time for lunch with his mother, just as she’s pouring herself a cup of coffee. He assumes the quiet has to do more with the fact that she’s been waking up every morning at four just to see him off, and he’s okay with that. He’s thinking of other things, volleyball and Karasuno, the small giant (the second one), things like that.

Until she asks, after her second cup—“Did something happen at work?”—and he replies, without meaning to.

“It’s Hinata.”

He doesn’t really like the way her face gets this sage expression, eyes narrowing, lips curled at the corner, as if she’s been waiting to hear him say it.

Then she says, “I was wondering when you’d mention him,” and he chokes on his food. 

“You don’t think I’d notice when your best friend apparently dropped off the face of the planet?”

“He isn’t—” he tries, between coughs. He manages a sip of milk. “It’s not like that.”

“It’s okay,” she says soothingly. “Things happen for a reason.” She laces her fingers around her mug, the lumpy blue one he made in elementary, hunching her shoulders against the cold. “Want to talk about it?”

He starts to shake his head, to deny any of this, but for some reason the thought gets mixed up in transit and he finds himself giving a helpless shrug of his shoulders. “I don’t know where to start.”

“How’s he doing?” she asks, and he gives another shrug that’s trying to be nonchalant and unaffected, that’s failing miserably at either.

“I haven’t spoken to him since high school.”

His mother nods knowingly, getting up to refill her coffee. “Maybe you should start there.”

He can’t help but notice his mother’s cup isn’t anywhere near empty, pressing his lips together as he wonders whether or not it’s too early to have regrets. But there’s a little bird inside his chest that’s been trying to break out for a year and he wonders if now is the time.

So he starts slowly, testing the words for their weight, finding the ones that won’t break open the wounds that have only just closed. “Last year,” he begins, “I…sort of…” he puts down his chopsticks, picks them up again, “Last year I...a—asked someone out.”

There’s no immediate reply. He looks up from his bowl warily, only to find her staring at him with wide eyes.

“Th—they said no, obviously, but—”

“Was it Hinata-kun?”

“That’s not—” he immediately sputters, face turning red, before realizing this entire thing started with Hinata and his effort to be coy is really just an exercise in futility. “...yeah,” he says, defeated by his own self.

“Hmmm…”

He squirms in his seat, feeling like a kid again. “I didn’t realize I was...you know...”

“Gay?” she asks, wryly, and he blinks in surprise.

“No, I was about to say ‘that obvious’...”

“Oh.”

 _Gay_. The word has hardly even crossed his mind, but it makes his stomach twist and he can’t figure out why.  _It's just Hinata_ , he thinks, and it has nothing to do with gender. “I guess I am?” he says, after a pause, even though something feels weird about the way it sits. 

The laugh she tries to disguise as a cough is unconvincing, even to him. He glares at her.

“I—I’m sorry,” she waves a hand, “I just—I should have known better.”

“Are you done laughing?” he asks hotly, and she gives a flustered nod.

“Yes, yes. I’m sorry.” She gathers herself, exhaling through pursed lips. “Alright, Tobio. Go ahead.”

He gives her a suspicious look, but she only leans forward onto the table, expression earnest, and he grudgingly sighs, recollecting his thoughts and refiguring his strategy.

“So when I confessed, I thought he liked me. But I was wrong, I guess. And then…” he squints hard at nothing again, “he didn’t talk to me for a year.”

“Just like that? Did you ask him why?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s the one...” he chews his lip. 

“Who rejected you?” she asks quietly and he blinks again at her, confused at the very thought.

He was at Hinata’s side for three whole years, so he knows better than anyone how... _good_ Hinata is. The type of good that runs up to complete strangers and just opens them up, because he’s sincere and honest and warm.

He knows too, because of proximity, when Hinata’s hurting. And he knows that was the expression Hinata wore, two years ago.

“He isn’t...like that. He didn’t do it to hurt me. It’s more—” More fumbling for words, “he’s just...the one who talks to me.”

“Oh.” She raises her cup to her lips, but it’s a while before she even takes a sip. When she does, she lowers it thoughtfully, gazing at something in the distance. “You mean, not the other way around?”

He nods.

“Oh,” she says one more time.

“Oh?” he echoes, embarrassed, and by extension, annoyed.

“I’m processing.” She hums to herself as she does, absently picking up chopsticks and reaching over to feed herself a sausage. She chews it thoughtfully, apparently completely unaware of her son’s growing impatience. “You know what I think you should do?”

“What?”

“Go talk to him.”

“ _What_?”

“Mhmm.” She nods. “It sounds like miscommunication to me.”

He stares at her.

“Tobio, you realize this sort of thing happens often, yes? You’re not very good at expressing yourself.”

“That’s not the problem though.”

“Mmm? Then what is? As far as I can tell, it sounds like you two are just waiting for the other to speak first. And in Hinata-kun’s case—” she stops, giving a small shake of her head. “Well, even if you say Hinata-kun isn’t at fault, that doesn’t mean it’s your fault either. Thus, miscommunication.”

He frowns at his food growing cold, trying to find an argument. He doesn’t have one by the time his mother rises, shivering and pulling her robes tighter around her body, or as she circles the table to pull him into a hug. “I’m sure he misses you as much as you miss him, Tobio. You’re very loveable.” She laughs at his disbelieving look, giving him a kiss on his forehead like he’s ten years old and then shuffling towards the door. “If you insist on waiting for him, I suppose you do know best. Though if it’s something worth waiting for, why wait until then for what you can have now?”

“Mom—”

“Mmm?” She pauses in the doorway, looking as if she already knows what he’s about to say.

He shakes his head. “Nevermind.”

“Mmkay. I’m going to go take a nice, warm bath. It’s nice to have you home, Tobio.” She smiles at him before disappearing, her voice coming back down the hall, definitely intended for him to hear. “I'm so glad my dishwasher’s back.”

*****

 

**fate (n).**

  1. that which is inevitable and predeter...well, you know how it goes.



 

 

“Ah! Kageyama!”

“Ah? Captain—”

 

 

“Oi! Hinata!”

“Tanaka-sa—your hair!!”

 

 

“Jeez, have you grown? How tall are you now?”

“190? I haven't measured in a while."

“Are you serious? Ugh...suddenly I feel so short—”

 

 

“Jeez, have you grown at all, Shouyou?”

“I’m tall enough!! And at least I didn’t grow sideways!”

“Watch it, punk, this is _pure muscle_ —”

 

 

“Oh god, please don't ask about school. I'm completely skipping classes. Don't tell Suga. Oh wait. _Wait_. Suga and I both wanna know. How’s playing on the same team as Oikawa?”

“Ahh…”

“That good, huh?”

“Well, he's...—”

 

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Your muscles are amazing!”

“That’s better. You need to properly respect your senpai. Getting all cocky cause you’re playing in college are you?”

"I'm not!" 

"Oh! But wait, I hear you beat down Noya's team!"

 

 

“Ukai-san said Tanaka’s coming too—oh, there he is. Ah! Is that—”

“Daichi-san!”

“Yo— Tanaka, Hinata!”

“Oi, Kageyama?? You’re—”

“He's tall, right?”

“What the shit—”

“Oi, Tanaka…”

“Sorry, but damn—”

“ _Tanaka_.”

“Sorryyy. But man, Kageyama’s here too. Now I’m _really_ pumped up! Let’s smash those little punks right into—”

“ _TANAKA—_ ”

 

* * *

 

 

                     "Hinata.” 

                     He wonders how a name can sound so loved, if it's obvious that nothing's changed, not him, not his feelings.

                     "You look well.” 

                     He's taller than the boy in his memories, maturer, stronger. Sharp eyes that are soft at the edges, looking gold in the light. 

                     There's no reply, and he gives a small nod, as if that were only expected. 

                     "I want to—” he starts to say, then seems to think better of it. He shakes his head, lips curling into small smile instead. His heart  
                     is beating two thousand miles a minute and he feels like he can fly. 

                     His voice when he speaks is soft. “Ready to see how good I've gotten?”

                      _I missed you,_ he says to no one.

                      _You're here._

_You're here, you're here, you're here._

                     “Y—you’ve been practicing, right?” 

                      _It's always been you._

                     “Of course.”

                      _Don’t second guess your heart, it’s never wrong._  

                     There's a whispering sound in his ears; the sound of the hole in his chest filling up, just like that. Two years, disappearing. 

                     “Good," he manages. "Let’s see it, then.”

                     He flashes a smile, careful, fragile. Another one to keep. 

                     He takes a breath.

                     Then another. 

                      _Spring_ , he thinks. _It smells like spring._

                      _Can we start again?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updated on 11/11  
> be sure to make a wish!  (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧


	3. lost on you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for waiting. (´―`ʃƪ)

**gravity (n.)**

  1. everything circles the sun.



 

 

He snaps his fingers together in his pocket. His fingers are numb, from either cold or anticipation; he can't tell the difference.

"Later," Hinata had said, with a small tilt of his head that made it sound like a question.

And Tobio had mouthed the word 'later' soundlessly and apparently that was answer enough. But now it occurs to him he doesn't know when 'later' is. He doesn't even know _what_ 'later' is.

Hinata's up front in the group, walking beside the high schoolers.  Tobio trails, bringing up the rear, content to watch. Except his eyes keep following Hinata, trying to take it all in.

He shifts his eyes away, buries his face in his scarf, and breathes out a slow breath.

It's probably anticipation.

He remembers the boy from high school-- less _remembers_ and more _can't forget_ \--and this isn't him.

Not just taller, though he is that too, but braver. Surer.

The way Hinata had tilted his head, and asked ' _later?_ ' in a soft and low voice that Tobio doesn't recognize. There was a question in it. 

Somehow though, it was anticlimactic. Ever since his mother, he’s wondered if there was any way he could repair whatever had broken and this--...This seemed so easy. Maybe Hinata’s grown up, maybe that’s why he makes his smiles look so easy, why he can act like they’ve simply been apart for too long and it’s just a matter of catching up.

 _You grew up too_ , he reminds himself, even though he's not so sure anymore. He's in love with a stranger.

It shouldn't be a surprise that he would become better in their time apart, but Tobio has the unpleasant feeling that it's because of _how much_ better Hinata is than he used to be that he feels sort of annoyed.

But he accepts it better than he thought he would. Maybe because Hinata being that much better made the both of them that much better. A setter is only ever as good as what he can bring out of his striker. Et cetera.

In Hinata's case, sometimes Tobio wonders if it's not the other way around. He had forgotten volleyball could be so fun.

And it's not that playing on the university team isn't fun. Volleyball by definition is his everything. Every week, he feels like he's learning again how much further he has to go, how much more he has to learn, how much better he can be if only he keeps trying, keeps working, keeps grinding himself to dust on the court. In a weird, definitely unhealthy way, he wants that. He wants the challenge and the fight and the constant pressure.

But with Hinata, there’s no pressure.

His eyes keep trying to follow the sun.

He wonders if he's obvious.

He can’t help it.

He catches Daichi's eye and pretends to be interested in a dark window display.

He plays Hinata's face through his mind, the mirrored look of astonishment and nostalgia and pain, because it sinks in that two years without that feeling is such a long long time.

He wants nothing else.

His eyes chase the sun again.

 The sun smiles back.

He closes his eyes.

 _An adult_ , he reminds himself again. He feels like he's seventeen again, with a badly kept secret.

"Hey Kageyama," Hinata says, as he opens them again. Two steps for every one, falling into sync with each other like it's so natural and only just yesterday.

"Mm," is his response.

There's a moment where Hinata chooses his words. It makes Tobio's skin prickle. More anticipation.

There's a soft intake of breath, and a bare second, and then he asks, "Hey, are you free later?"

Tobio's eyes slide over. "When?"

"Tonight. Or doesn't need to be tonight. But before you leave? If you're--" The words spill out of him and Tobio recognizes him now. Hinata takes another breath, trying to gather up his deliberation from a moment before, and Tobio releases the one he's been holding. "When do you leave?"

"Next week." Hinata waits, and Tobio amends. "Sunday night."

He watches Hinata count, and he wants to ask if Hinata is disappointed like he is, if he shares the same feeling of restlessness, the urge to fill every second with something significant.

But Tobio doesn't talk, maybe because wanting to ask and wanting to know are two entirely different things.

"Seven days then," Hinata calculates.

Tobio doesn't dare imagine disappointment in Hinata's eyes. Instead, he takes a cold breath and lies, haltingly, hesitantly, hunching his shoulders against the sudden cold. "I'm free tonight."

 

\- - - - - - - - -

 

He feels like he's ten.

"Mom, can I do something tonight with a friend?"

 _"A friend,"_ she echoes. But she doesn't sound surprised or curious or mocking, and he's grateful for that.  _"You're not a child anymore, Tobio. You don't need to ask for permission."_

"Mhm."

" _Are you going to eat dinner out then?"_

"I'll find something." He turns away from Hinata's watching gaze, lowering his voice. "Sorry about dinner."

 _"I’ll always be here, and your friends are important,_ " she chides him gently and he has the feeling she knows more than she's letting on. _"What time will you be home?"_

"You don't need to wait up."

 _"Okay."_ She pauses, as if she's waiting for something else. Tobio doesn't know what else to give.

"I'll make it up to you."

His mother laughs, _"Don't worry, Tobio. Tell Shou-kun I said hi."_

He switches the phone to his other ear and looks to Hinata at his side. "My mom says hi."

Shouyou beams back. "I say hi too!"

He tilts the receiver back, "Did you hear that?"

_"I heard. He sounds well. How's his family?"_

He makes a pained grunt.

 _"Okay, okay."_ She laughs and he glares at a spot on the ground because he can't glare at her. _"Have fun then. Don't do anything too stupid."_

He waits until he hears it disconnect on his mother's side before he slides the phone back into a pocket, finally turning back to face Hinata.

"Okay?"

He nods.

"Okay." Hinata glances back down the way the rest of the team went, then looks back. "What was that about dinner?"

Tobio searches for a lie and fails. "I was going to have dinner with my mom.

"But you said you were free."

He hunches his shoulders. "I did."

"Hm."

Hinata is quiet.

Tobio watches him.

Then he slowly nods, as if he can accept that as an answer, and says, “How about we eat at the station?”

“What’s at the station?”

“There’s all these new places at the station--you didn’t see it? Didn’t you take the train?”

“Plane. Then bus.”

“Oh man, you have to see it! It’s so nice! C’mon, let’s go, let’s go.”

All of a sudden there’s an arm threaded through Tobio’s and he’s getting dragged along, so hard he has to take extra steps to keep up with him.

Automatically, Tobio tries to pull away, grumbling. “I’m coming already, let go--”

He stops, because Hinata’s laugh in his ear is high and warm and something in his brain flashes danger signs.

“What?” Hinata looks back at him, his laughter still curved on his lips.

Tobio tries to gather himself, cause he doesn’t know either. “Nothing,” he mutters, before pushing Hinata off, unresisting. His brain scrabbles around, looking for some purchase.

“Mmkay,” Hinata singsongs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Hey, Karasuno isn’t bad, yeah? I mean we were definitely still better, but they put up a good fight against us, no?”

 _Us_ , Tobio thinks. “They weren’t bad,” he says.

“Of course we were way better,” Hinata nods sagely, his hand on his chin. Then his arm drops a little and his head tilts up, and he looks at Tobio with another question. “You’re better.”

“You are too.” He looks directly at Hinata then, if only because he’s very serious about this point.

“Well it’s been two years,” Hinata says modestly, even though Tobio could say the same. “It’s been so long since I played with you, I was worried it would--” He suddenly breaks off. And then Tobio feels eyes on him before Hinata darts forward, his feet sliding on the icy ground. Tobio’s about to warn him, but then he jumps, form flying, and the words don’t even come.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and Hinata wraps him up in a smile as he catches up again.

“How’s your team?” Hinata asks, falling back into step beside him. “I watched that match you guys had against Kenma’s school’s team.”

“Which one?” he asks, even though he knows which one.

He went out as a pinch-server, played five full minutes.

“It was in August. The second round preliminaries. You served like five times in a row! It was like bam! Pow! Wham! Double pow!”

As Hinata speaks, he keeps swinging his arm back and forth, pinwheeling it like one of those baseball pitching machines, and Tobio’s fingers start to itch again. He shoves them deeper in his pockets, just to be safe.

“Mm.” He can’t help the feeling of dissatisfaction, though he’s not sure what’s worse. The reminder that he doesn’t play setter, or the awareness that now Hinata knows that too.

He can see Hinata looking at him from the corner of his eye, but he pretends not to notice.  The next thing Hinata does is exhale a soft, “Oikawa-san is really good, isn’t he?”

“Mm,” he says again.

“He’s even better than he used to be.”

“Mm.”

“I bet I could hit his tosses though.”

Tobio looks at Hinata, Hinata looks back. Again, Hinata has that look in his eye. With a question in it that Tobio doesn’t know the answer to.

And then he looks away, scuffing his sneaker against the ground as they walk. “But I don’t wanna.”

“Why?”

Hinata frowns at the ground, flexing his fingers. “I’d get mad, probably.”

An answer this time. Finally Tobio gets the question.

He thinks of a spring from long ago, grass beneath his shoes, and hot, angry tears.

Right where they left off.

“I’m not gonna lose to him,” he says. He waits for Hinata to look up. “I’ll beat him.”

Hinata grins at him, indulgently, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “When?”

“Before he graduates. I’ll start.”

“Really? You have...what’s that. A year then?” Hinata swings his arms. “That’s easy.”

“It’s not.” And because he sees Hinata start to argue, he adds quickly, “But I’ll do it. We haven’t made it to the tournament yet, but we will. This year. And.” He wonders why he keeps stuttering, why it’s hard for him to speak clearly and smoothly. Every word is an effort. He licks his lips. “Tryouts are in summer. For the league teams.”

He realizes belatedly that Hinata’s stopped walking, and then he turns around, facing him straight-on. Hinata’s mouth moves, but Tobio can’t hear what he’s saying.

Tobio takes a breath, squaring his shoulders against the weight of a promise. “I’m going to try out.”

There’s another pause, even longer than the first.

“I’ll make it,” he adds tightly, because even though it shouldn’t need to be said, Hinata’s silence is hard to respond to.

Hinata blinks, a birdlike tilt to his head. “Of course you will,” he says, the corner of his lip quirked down.

Tobio’s cheeks get warm.

 _Of course you will_.

He lets it sit inside him.

_Of course._

And then he tucks it away, because he notices that something in Hinata’s expression has changed, his eyes going distant. After a moment, he gives his head a little shake and starts walking again, but something about his motions are stiff, and his eyes are fixed on the ground now, a tiny furrow visible in his brow.

Tobio follows with uncertain steps, trying to figure out he said wrong. “Hinata?”

“Mm?” He looks up and apparently reads something on Tobio’s face that tips him off, because the look is gone nearly as soon as it came, replaced with a smile that hardly reaches his eyes. “A year, huh?”

He doesn’t respond, watching.

“A year,” Hinata repeats to himself. Tobio wonders what makes him smile like that. This one’s softer. It becomes something tender and secret.

And then the boy lifts his eyes again and it’s like everything around him brightens a little.

“A year,” Hinata says, and there’s nothing forced about this third smile. Typical Hinata Shouyou, brightening a room before you even notice it’s dark. “Alright then. Should we make it a bet?”

 “For what?”

“Kageyama Tobio,” he points a finger at Tobio’s chest, “first string setter of Kyoto University. You have a year to do it.”

“If I don’t?”

Hinata hums, tapping a finger against his lips. “If you don’t, you owe me.”

“Owe you? What do I owe?”

“Dinner. A special request. My servant for a day. The usual.” Four smiles.

“If I do?”

“Then congratulations, you’re first string setter!” He reads Tobio’s expression, his eyes bright with the joke. “What, no good?” His finger taps again. “Uh huh, uh huh. What do you want then?”

He doesn’t say that losing suddenly doesn’t sound _all_ awful. (Only just a little awful and a little more nice.) He doesn’t argue that a bet is unnecessary, that overthrowing the grand king from his throne has been his goal all along. He also doesn’t say that maybe part of him is doing it for Hinata now.

He says, “Dinner. A special request. The usual.”

The fifth one’s the edge of a laugh.

* * *

**change (v.)**

  1. to become different.
  2. to give and take reciprocally.



 

 

"English?" he echoes, staring at the boy sitting across from him. "Why English?"

"In case."

"In case what? Are you gonna teach English or something?" He tries to imagine Kageyama speaking English, maybe standing in front of a room of elementary school kids and having them all repeat after him.

_Please. Thank you. Hello. Goodbye._

Kageyama ducks his head, hiding his face in the crook of his arm. Shouyou has to lean forward to hear what he says. "They have professional leagues in other countries too."

The way Kageyama looks at him is wary, like he's expecting him to laugh, and Shouyou wants to be insulted but he's too stricken with genius to say anything but, "That's genius,” in a whisper that’s barely audible. Then, "Oh no. How hard is it? Is it hard? Do you think I can learn English in two years? _Noooo_ , why didn't I think of that?"

"What are you studying?"

This time Shouyou's the one wearing the wary expression. "Botany," he murmurs, then louder and awkwardly, when Kageyama gives him a blank look, "Flowers and…and stuff."

Kageyama is quiet for a long moment, simply staring. Shouyou can't help but fidget under that look, and he's just about to retort, to make Kageyama stop, when the man just _snorts_ , ducking his face into his collar to hide the flash of white.

Shouyou feels embarrassment flush up in him and he punches Kageyama in the arm without even thinking about it. "S-stop! I thought since I like flowers and stuff it would be easy, but y-you know, It's actually really interesting!"

"Is it easy?"

"…Well…no…but still-!"

"Wasn't science like your worst subject in high school?"

"I got better! And this is horticulture, so it's entirely different!"

"Horticulture,” Kageyama echoes him. “Tsukishima had to tutor you, or did you already forget?"

"I'm pretty sure Tsukishima was tutoring _you_ too, Bakageyama." Another small fist goes flying, and Kageyama takes this one as well, wearing a grin that makes Shouyou forget what he's doing and stare for just a second too long.

That's not the first time, but he tells himself not to dwell on that because who knows then where his mind would wander?

He glances away quickly, sliding his hands into his pockets to try to make them behave. It's an effort in futility, he already knows, because every time he meets Kageyama's eye, every time they touch, every time he hears Kageyama's voice, deeper and softer than he remembers, every time Shouyou so much as _thinks_ the boy's name, he's feels like he's five feet above the ground, suspended, and he's reaching out for something right at the tips of his fingers.

 _That's too poetic_ , he thinks to himself, and he blames his seminar teacher, whose adoration for flowers goes well beyond just the plants, and into all they represent. She speaks in flowery terms and saying language is too beautiful and intricate to waste on words like 'good' and 'happy' and…'like'.

"Love," she says instead. "There's no shame in using the word love. Love wholeheartedly."

He doesn't know how to do anything else.

She also wears a rose every day, because she says it'll invite love into her life, so at some point he'll need to draw a line on how far he'll take her advice.

The answer to his question, for what it's worth, is also right there at his fingertips, but he doesn't know how to ask it.

_Love, Kageyama. Do you still love me?_

Or…maybe he does, but he doesn't want to know the answer. _Love without holding yourself back_ , his professor says again, and he rolls his eyes, either at her or himself, he's not all that sure.

It all stacks up inside him. _Love is love_ and _take care of it_.

“Hey,” he says, “you wanna come over?”

 

\- - - - - - - - - -

 

He _could_ save him, but there's not a single part of him that actually wants to.

"It's for the best," he says helpfully, "cause you don't have a change of clothes."

"Shut up."

"You're blushing."

Kageyama flushes redder, enough to match Natsu’s pink apron slung around his neck. "Shut _up_. That's not it."

"Then what?" He accepts the dish Kageyama hands him, drying it with the dish cloth covering his hands.

Kageyama averts his eyes. "I'm just…surprised. She still likes me."

"Who? Natsu?" Shouyou glances back over his shoulder at where Natsu and his mother sit in the living room. "Of course she still likes you. You used to come over and play all the time."

"But it's been a while."

"Two years isn't _that_ long. My family's always liked you though."

"Really?"

He can feel Kageyama staring at him, but when he glances up, Kageyama's gaze is fixed on what his hands are doing. He grins to himself. "Yep. Mom would ask about you every time I came home. And oh _man_ , Natsu would--”

"Natsu would what?” she interrupts, sticking her head through the kitchen window. “Niichan, are you guys gonna play with us?"

"Play what?"

"I dunno. Tobio-niichan can choose."

Shouyou exchanges a look with Kageyama, then slings the dish towel over his shoulder and leaves Kageyama in the kitchen, Natsu dogging his heels. "Hey Kaa-chan?"

"Mm?" He sits on the couch armrest. "You mind if Kageyama and I go out?"

Natsu gasps. "I mind!"

"I don't know, you're an adult now. Are you going drinking?" She doesn't pull her gaze from the television.

"Maybe."

"Can't you just drink here?"

"I mean…I _guess_ so."

"There's your father's beer in the fridge. I want someone to drink that so he doesn't."

Shouyou wrinkles his nose. "Alright. But we're still going out."

"Like I said, you're an adult now."

"Can I come?" Natsu asks at his elbow.

Their mom mutes the tv. "Nuh-uh. You have homework."

"But Tobi-niichan is here! It's a special occasion!"

Shouyou frowns, poking his sister in the forehead. "He's my friend."

"He's mine too.”

"Natsu," Shouyou drags out her name. "No."

"But why?"

"We're going pre-drinking." He lies through his teeth and stubbornly ignores his mom's not-so-subtle snort of laughter. "You can't come to the bar with us."

"Then can I go on a date?"

"What? With who?"

"With Tobi-niichan!"

"Uh," he glances back at the kitchen, as if to make sure Kageyama didn’t hear. "You need to ask him, I guess."

Natsu dashes around the corner without waiting and after sharing a glance with his mother, Shouyou follows. He finds her leaning against the counter, standing on tiptoes in an attempt to reach his elbow.

“Tobi-niichan, will you go on a date with me?” she says excitedly. “I wanna go on a date with you!”

"You can say no--," Shouyou starts to say, but then he notices Kageyama's smile, a flash of white, and he stops himself.

"Where do you want to go?" he asks, and Shouyou wonders who the hell took Kageyama and replaced him with…with this guy.

"Really? To the aquarium! Or the zoo! Or the museum!"

"All three?" He smiles down at her.

"Really?!"

Shouyou catches himself smiling, and he tells himself it's because of Natsu's excitement and not simply a knee-jerk response to that expression.

"Kaa-chan! I'm going on a date!" Natsu bounces back into the living room, all but barreling into their mother as she tumbles to the ground. "Did you hear?"

Shouyou watches them a moment, exchanging a glance with his mother over the top of Natsu's head. Then he swings around, pulling the dishtowel back into his hands and tackling the pile Kageyama's left on the sink.

 "You shouldn't make promises with her, you know."

"I don't mind."

"She'll never let you go. You're nuts. Who goes to the zoo in winter?" Leaning against the counter, he starts putting dishes away, banging cupboards until his mom tells him to quit it.

"Will you come?"

"Come where?" he asks, doubly relieved when he doesn't stutter.

"On the date. The one with Natsu."

He barely manages to keep from dropping the plate in his hand. "I don't think Natsu would want that."

"What about what I want?"

It's said without inflection or insinuation. It's said so smoothly that Shouyou half doubts he even heard it. "What do you want?"

Kageyama glances up, elbow deep in sudsy water. An eternal moment passes.

Then, "nothing. Do I drain it?"

"Mhmm. Dump the water out. Can you put these in the far one?"

He does as asked, then closes the pantry door without a sound and turns back to Shouyou. "Are we really going drinking?"

"It's way too cold to go out. I was just trying to get rid of Natsu but then you had to go and promise her a date." He huffs theatrically, drying the last of the utensils and sorting them into the drawer. It shuts with a bang.

Kageyama still doesn't seem bothered by it. Shouyou wonders if he's been on dates before.

He rifles through the things on the counter, filling his arms with snacks. Then he raids the fridge, piling on two cans of beer on top of his stack, then a couple bottles of soda. Kageyama takes them from him off the top and he murmurs thanks. "Come on, before she ropes us into playing games with her."

He dumps everything on his bed first, then flicks on the lights, throwing clothes back into the suitcase lying open by the door.

"What's wrong? Have a seat." He seats himself on his bed, a bag of chips in his hands.

"Nothing," Kageyama replies, ducking absently as he enters. "Just…hasn't changed much."

"Really?" Shouyou gazes around him, trying to imagine what Kageyama saw. "That desk is new though. And these are Natsu's bedsheets--trust me, I don't watch that show--and--"

"You haven't changed much, I mean." Kageyama interrupts and Shouyou stops mid-sentence.

Kageyama's watching him steadily though and Shouyou keeps tripping over himself. 

"My hair is new," he says, a little floppily, feeling _exactly_ like he hasn't changed at all. Still sixteen, still in love, still struggling with anything and everything. The star princess blankets don't help.

When Kageyama doesn't respond, he stirs hands through his hair as if he can fix his head back on straight, deciding to listen to his mom and drink a beer, just to get through tonight. "You're supposed to compliment me there, Bakayama." He grins sidelong at Kageyama, legs crossed under him just a couple feet away. "That part of you hasn't changed."

The man tilts his head, accepting the can offered him and agreeing softly, "Nothing's changed at all."

* * *

      **remain (v.)**

  1. to stay in the same place, to be left, to be still.
  2. to wait.



 

 

This is all familiar.

The sound, the smell, the feeling. Tobio stares at the ceiling for an hour, ordering himself not to hold the hand that hangs off the bed just inches from his.

 _It’s the alcohol_ , he tells himself, but that was hours ago and any effects of alcohol in his system ought to be long gone.

 _Sleep_ , he also tells himself, but that barely works any better. His thoughts don't want to calm down, because in the half-dark, all he can think about are soft secrets that were never meant to be said. Because dawn is gentle to thoughts that gather at night. Because he knows he still loves Hinata and he hasn't ever really stopped.

By the time the room fills with a soft blue light, Tobio isn't sure he's gotten any sleep at all, but he's grateful for a reason to get up. He dresses in the bathroom, pulling on the same clothes from yesterday and trying to brush his fingers through his hair to make it lie properly. Then he goes back to Hinata's room, stooping near Hinata's bed and giving the boy's shoulder a soft shake.

"Hinata. I gotta go."

"…mmm…g'where…?" Hinata's voice is heavy with sleep, half his hair flattened from where he slept. He squints at Tobio through the dim morning light. "…ah, 'ageyama…Wha' time?"

"Mmm. Little before six." Tobio pulls on his jacket, trying to make as little noise as possible. "You can go back to sleep."

Hinata presses his face into his pillow, but Tobio doesn't even have time to move before the boy's pushing himself up and throwing back the covers. "No--" he exhales heavily. "I'll walk you to the stop."

Every word seems to require most of Hinata's energy, so Tobio doesn't argue it, waiting while Hinata stumbles around his room finding a jacket in the mess. He stops himself from laughing when the other boy tries to fit his head through the arm hole, Hinata too sleepy to even comment on it.

"You can go back to sleep," he offers again, as Hinata leads the way back down the hallway. The floorboards creak underfoot and he tries to step carefully so as not to wake the rest of the house.

Hinata's doesn't bother keeping quiet. "S'okay. I'm the one who made you sleep over 'n'all." He yawns as Tobio squats on the step to pull his boots on, and then he stuffs his socked feet into sandals and pushes open the front door, letting out a muffled yelp as the cold wraps around them.

Their footsteps crunch in leftover snow, the soft powder left throughout the night already starting to meltaway with the sun. Unaccustomed to silence with Hinata, Tobio searches around for something to say. But that's never been his strength after all, and its Hinata who eventually breaks the stalemate, his syllables slurring. "You're not sleepy?"

"Used to waking up early," Tobio replies, and he catches himself trying to keep his voice low, as if he's afraid of waking Hinata up still.

"-oh, I see. Shouldn’t have drank..." Hinata mumbles and he rubs his bleary eyes. "Thanks for comin' over. I had fun." He laughs for some reason, the sound absurdly bright even when Hinata's soft and sleepy. "Feels like high school, doesn' it? But drinking, huh...I guess some things have changed."

 _Not much_ , Tobio thinks only to himself.

He muffles another yawn. "Natsu's gonna be so mad you already left." He sighs noisily, mumbling under his breath. "Probably gonna get mad at me, even though _you're_ the one who promised to play with her. I have it tough."

Tobio smiles, "You can tell her I'll come again if you want."

"You should tell her yourself," Hinata huffs. "She ain't gonna believe me."

"That's true." He stifles a laugh, entertaining the thought of the girl chewing her older brother out.

"So you should really come over again." There's a slight breathiness to Hinata's words that make Tobio glance sideways at him, but the boy's eyes are fixed on the ground, his expression neutral. "If you want."

Tobio cups his fingers over his nose and exhales a slow breath. His sigh is warm and his fingertips tingle. He wants to ask if Hinata can smell spring too, and if he can, what it smells like.

And then, because it's a soft morning, because Hinata looks so soft and defenseless standing there, because secrets are meant to be said softly, he lets his secret rest on that silence, to see if it will break.

"Hey Hinata?"

"Mm?"

"I…" He weighs his secret on his tongue. "I still want…" he starts to say, then struggles with it, running over his hundred scenarios again even though none of them feel right.

"What's up?" Hinata asks, and he watches Tobio carefully, like he almost already knows, like he's waiting for it.

"I didn't want to stop," he says, and he doesn't say the words at the end. He doesn't finish it. "I mean, you asked--before--if I wanted to stop and I didn't. I don't. I--I haven't." Hinata watches him carefully. "You know?"

_Do you remember?_

It's quiet a moment. Then two, then three, then it's just silence, Hinata's soft breathing in Tobio's ears.

Then Hinata scuffs a shoe in the snow and murmurs, "Your bus is coming," quietly, and Tobio supposes that's one thing that's changed and one thing that hasn’t. Hinata’s maturity, Hinata’s gentleness.

He shoulders his bag, feeling the need to clarify. That he doesn't need anything this time, that he doesn't want anything this time, that he's done some growing up of his own and that he does have something to show for it. But instead he finds himself muttering, "nothing's changed," to himself, as he steps up to the curb. Strangely enough, he doesn't regret saying it. Maybe that's just a trademark of stupidity and maybe that means he hasn’t changed; to never regret one's feelings even when one's rejected.

But right now, everything is muffled by snow and his feelings know to be hushed, and later, later, it'll ache, but right now he just wants to be friends. He just wants to pretend they're in high school again, that there's no separation between them.

"You didn't answer," Hinata says suddenly. "Can you hang out again?"

He turns, confused.

Hinata tilts his head at him, birdlike. "Do you wanna? Are you free?"

This is the hundredth and one scenario. It's hard to leave something once you've found it again.

"I'm free," he says, and Hinata breaks into a relieved smile.

"'Kay. Can I call you later?"

"Y-ye--anytime."

"I'll call then."

"Okay," he says. Then, "Okay."

The bus rattles as it approaches, and the doors swing open,  and when Hinata smiles at him like that, defenses down and forgotten, Tobio never really knows what to say to Hinata except _I love you,_ again and again in his head.

He takes a breath like he's about to say something, and Hinata studies him again, and then he climbs the steps, taking a bus ticket and folding it between his fingers as he finds a seat at the back of the bus. Hinata waits on the curb with shoulders hunched, not moving.

He touches a finger to the glass and wonders how Hinata doesn't hear it.

It seems so obvious to him, like every inch of him leans in Hinata's direction, a flower tilted toward the center sun.

If he closes his eyes, he can imagine that it's the opposite: that the bus is reaching his stop, that he's about to get off now, that Hinata's there waiting for him, about to pick him up.

And then a voice says, "this is probably a bad idea," and Tobio opens his eyes as the daydream disintegrates, and Hinata's dropping into the narrow row right next to him, arms wrapped around himself.

"Hina--" He sits up straight, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Riding with you," he says, rather matter-of-factly. "Just a few stops, then I'll just walk back home."

"Why?"

"Because you…you said something like that, and there wasn't enough time to talk, and--oh no, I might need you to pay my fare. I don’t have my wallet.”

As the bus pulls away from the curb, Tobio watches the snow-covered bench disappear and he can't help the little thump of his heart as he thinks how much better than his daydream this is. Their shoulders touch, half because Tobio's already too tall for it, half because there’s too much space left on the other side of Hinata.

Hinata slides lower in his seat and his voice drops with it, even though there's no one around to hear them save the busdriver, all the way in the front. "Kageyama, you didn't even ask for my answer this time."

Gold eyes flicker up towards Tobio, then back away, remaining resolutely forward this time.

His mouth feels dry, and some of the softness is gone. Instead it's just warm. The heater beneath the seat. The warmth in his chest. Hinata's shoulder, pressed against his arm. "Would it be different then?" he asks.

"I told you, didn't I? Lots of things have changed." Tobio stares, because he's not sure if he's imagining the blush on Hinata's cheeks. "And I've always--I'm really sorry. For high school." For the first time, Tobio notices Hinata's hand, lying on the bench between their legs, knuckles white. He imagines what it would be like to hold that hand.

"What did you do?"

Hinata winces. For a moment he doesn't reply, looking straight forward, at the plastic backing of the seat in front, expression unreadable.

"You didn't do anything--"

"I did," he interrupts, shaking his head and sitting up. "I--" He pulls his hands into his lap, running his fingers along the edge of his jacket, then seems to realize what he's doing and he stops, abruptly, leaning forward to bury his head in his arms on the back of the row in front of them.

"Hinata."

There's no response.

" _Hinata_."

"GAH!"

Tobio jumps. The bus lurches. Hinata lifts his head. Tobio catches the bus driver's eye in the rearview mirror. “What was that?” he whispers, ducking his head.

"It’s _my_ fault and I'm not even apologizing right. I'm-I’m sorry!"

"What are you talking about?" He keeps his voice low, as if that will make up for Hinata's too loudness.

"I lied to you. In high school." Something seems to unlock in Hinata, all the words spilling out frantically. "If I had known--I mean I know it's impossible to say--but if I had known--Kageyama, I missed…--urg. It's embarrassing how _much_. I feel like…I feel like I could redo anything in my entire life…” He keeps breaking himself off, starting new thoughts over and over again. The unfinished ends pile up in Tobio’s hands. “If _you_ could redo anything in your entire life, Kageyama, do you have something you’d change?"

He doesn't really realize it's a serious question until Hinata turns to him, eyes forlorn and desperate. That makes it even harder to search for an answer. Maybe Hinata doesn't actually expect an answer, because he sighs, fiddling with the hem of his shirt again.

"I know what I'd redo."

"What?"

"If I could redo anything, I'd probably try to tell you the truth, like from the very beginning."

Tobio's pulse is rising, he can feel it beating against his ribs, his chest a little cage. "What’s the truth?"

"You know," Hinata whispers, leaning forward until his forehead rests against the seat in front of him. He swivels his head, looking back at Tobio sideways, cheeks red, hair still a mess from sleep, eyes wide and half-afraid.

He's dangerously kissable, looking like that.

"Wait."

"What?" Hinata squeaks, looking pained by the interruption. "Kageyama, I'm like--"

"Just--wait. Fuck.” Tobio covers his eyes with a hand, trying to control his thoughts. His voice is a whisper. “There’s--Shit.” he stops, starts again. “I love you, you know? Do you--?” 

Hinata holds his breath, and suddenly Tobio thinks he can hear it. He looks at Hinata, and Hinata looks back.

"Are you? If you're not, then--"

Then what? Get off the bus? Let me get off the bus? Watch yourself, because I might kiss you just because I can't control myself anymore?

"If you're not…I don't want to know," he says instead.

Hinata pushes himself up, and it's his turn to hide, sliding down down down in his seat until he's nearly lying on the bench, fingers over his eyes, and his voice breaking over words so fragile Tobio holds his breath to hear them.

"Kageyama, I've been in love with you since I was like fifteen and I don't know what to do anymore."

With one heartbeat, he lets that sink in.

With another, he leans over, pulling Hinata's hands gently from over his eyes.

With another, he asks, very softly, "Is it okay if I kiss you now?"

After two more, Hinata finally nods.

And then Tobio kisses him in the back of an empty bus, for much longer than a heartbeat, especially given how fast his are going right now, like gunfire.

* * *

**      permanence (n.) **

  1. perpetual.



 

 

He thinks he's going to die. 

 _Can I kiss you?_ he asks, and he means _Is this okay?_ and Shouyou immediately wants to say yes, to convince him of it, but suddenly he's hyper-aware of where they are, what they're doing, what he's like.

He knows there's probably something crusty around his eyes. The bus is loud and the edge of the seat presses into his back. He's still wearing his pajamas, underneath a jacket that's threadbare around the elbows and smells like his closet.

But then he's even more aware of other things too. Kageyama's fingers around his wrist, big enough to wrap all the way around and then some. And his eyes, questioning and apprehensive and brighter somehow, than the gold of the sunrise right over his shoulder. Kageyama's breath against his lips, and the anticipation--

 He thinks he's going to die of the color blue.

He's vaguely aware of closing his eyes, of an aching, airless feeling in his chest, of the sound of the bus around them, like they're in some giant growl.

But he's fixated on their points of tangency. On Kageyama's thumb, pressed against his shoulder, trying to get as close as he can without holding him down. On Kageyama's fingers, a line against the line in his throat, scarring in their gentleness. Like Shouyou's too precious to be held, like he's afraid to even touch. On Kageyama's lips, one minute asking _is this okay?_ and the next, rough and torn and so scared, Shouyou thinks he's going to die.

Kageyama pulls back.

He's going to die.

His eyes are _so blue_.

Were they always that blue?

"Was it bad?" he asks, and Shouyou's realized he's touching his lips to his fingertips, to where Kageyama's mouth had been just a moment before.

"No, but it was..." he trails off, trying to find the right word to capture everything he was feeling. Hammering inside his chest so long he's forgotten what it's like to not have that.

To capture five years of waiting, of two confessions, and one kiss.

"A lot," he says finally, his voice breathier than he wants it to be.

For a beat, Kageyama stares at him.

And then, impossibly, he begins to laugh.

Shouyou stares, fingers still on his lips. "Why are you laughing?"

Kageyama's eyes flash at him, the sentiment behind them impossible to read. "I don't--I don't know?" he says, making it sound like a question.

"'You don't know'," Shouyou echoes dubiously, his hands falling to his lap. "What do you mean, 'you don't know'?"

"I don't know?" Kageyama repeats again. "What is 'a lot' supposed to mean?" He presses _his_ hands against his lips now, trying to smother it. But still his mouth curls with a laugh, and suddenly, impossibly, Shouyou wants to laugh too.

"It's--" he searches helplessly for words again. "I just--I imagined it before--"

"You imagined it?" Kageyama straightens up a little, his words warm.

"I mean. Maybe." His lie is so obvious it makes his ears burn.

"How was it?"

 _Don't ask_ , Shouyou wants to say, but he doesn't. "Better," he says after another pause, and he hates that his voice is getting high and airy again. He clears it, struggling to tamp whatever that is down before Kageyama can hear it and make fun of him. "It's definitely--" he swallows, accidentally goes too far and whispers, "better."

And Kageyama laughs again, just a single sound as he shifts back in his seat, pushing back his hair with one hand.

Shouyou loves him again, just like that.

He loves the look on Kageyama's face right in that moment, that expression of peace that's unfamiliar and suited, all at once. The trace of a smile, his eyes still soft with laughter, the way he looks at the world like something's finally been given back.

He loves him all over again, just like that.

Kageyama's hand rests on the bench between them, palm up. It seems like it asks, _is this okay?_ , just like blue eyes and chewed lips.

He hesitates, just for a second, and then he reaches out, threading his fingers through. Kageyama's first instinct is to pull away. He stiffens, the expression of contentment on his face replaced by a flash of something a step beyond surprise, a step beneath fear.

It makes Shouyou anxious suddenly, for a reason he can't really place. Perhaps it's all too new for them, perhaps they're traveling too fast, hurtling along with too much momentum now. Perhaps he's the only one that wants anything more, because that's possible, isn't it?

All Kageyama ever said was _I love you, you know?_ and he promised nothing else. Shouyou's used to that. Shouyou knows how to pretend he wants nothing else.

And Shouyou squeezes down on Kageyama's fingers, staring back at him with something more akin to determination than anything else.

 _Love is love. Take care of it_.

He will, he promises himself. This time he will.

"This is okay," he says, to Kageyama's eyes, and he holds his hand more tightly. ‘This’, is encompassing, more than just holding hands between them on an empty morning bus.

Kageyama's voice is soft, but he holds his hand tightly, knuckles white with the effort it takes to not break. He understands what Shouyou means. "What is ‘this’?" he asks. He looks up from their joined hands, expression kept on glass.

Shouyou gives him another kiss, just for that bravery, leaning over and pressing something soft to the corner of Kageyama's lips.

It sets off another charge inside him. He's fighting down the feeling of suffocation inside him, and he's just about to win, when Kageyama slides down in his seat, low enough to rest his head on Shouyou's shoulder.

Dark hair tickles his cheek. He can feel Kageyama's breath against his exposed collarbone.

He doesn't know what _this_ is. Right now, he doesn't know anything much at all, except that all things are softer than they ever had any right to be and he thinks he's going to die one day, just not right now.

"I gotta get off at the next stop," he says, and then they both watch as the sign flashes in the window and recedes behind him.

"The next one," Kageyama suggests, and Shouyou nods, cheek against his hair.

"The next one," he agrees, but neither of them move.

* * *

      **love (n.)**

  1. is greedy.



 

 

He studies Hinata from behind his drink, watching the boy schmooze up to Tsukishima for the piece of fried chicken in his chopsticks. 

“What the hell, Hinata!” Tsukishima tries to push him away, but there’s an unmistakable flush to Hinata’s cheeks and Tobio knows Hinata will win this.

“There’s more coming, Hinata! Just sit properly!” Yamaguchi tries to pull him off Tsukishima with Yachi’s help.

“Shou-chan, you’re making a scene--”

“But I want that one,” Hinata whines, his mouth open. “Stingy-shima, c’mon! Share!”

“Kageyama--” Tsukishima kicks around under the table for Tobio’s foot. “Control your idiot!”

“He’s not...mine,” Tobio mutters, but he feels the edge between logic and desire starting to blur in a rather pleasant way.

The word hums happily inside him.

_Mine._

And then he reminds himself that Hinata will never be _his_ , because it’s like possessing the sun, or air, or. Or.

“Hinata.”

His name escapes him without meaning too, and all of a sudden, everyone’s eyes are on him.

Including Hinata’s. The boy pauses, one hand still stretched across the table for Tsukishima’s food. And then he starts to unravel, pushing himself upright and falling back into his chair almost docilely.

“What.” Yamaguchi says flatly, voicing all of their questions.

Tobio’s just as confused as the rest of them. They all stare at Hinata, but the boy only smiles back.

“I’m his idiot,” Hinata says cheerfully, and it’s all Tobio can do to keep from smiling.

 _Mine_ , he thinks, and he wonders if _This_ will allow for sharing a kiss in the bathroom between courses.

“Gross,” Tsukishima says into the silence.

Tobio doesn’t pay him any attention, because Tsukishima is Tsukishima and anything else would be unsettling. It’s more the look of embarrassment on Yachi’s face that gets him, but then she catches him looking and she only gives him a shy smile that makes him flush.

Somehow though, this is the calmest he’s ever felt. With Hinata, he always feels like his heart starts a new rhythm, something faster and stronger. Simply being near him is enough to make the air around him feel thin, like there’s not enough oxygen and his lungs are trying hard to keep up. 

But this is different. With all of them, it’s different.

Across the table he watches Yamaguchi chew happily on a piece of chicken. Yachi talks eagerly about something with Tsukishima, even though the taller boy looks entirely unimpressed as he responds, waving his chopsticks in the air.

Just like Hinata said he would, he missed them.

“How’s your birthday so far?” Hinata nudges him in the side with his finger. “Are ya havin’ fun?”

Tobio covers his mug with a hand, leaning his head against his wrist. Hinata’s eyes are brighter than usual, and maybe he’s drunk, because he finds it hard to look away. “Mhmm.”

“Really?” He beams. “Aren’t we the best? We’re the best, aren’t we? Say we’re the best, Kageyama.”

“You’re the best,” he acknowledges, and Hinata laughs into his food, satisfied.

Then Yamaguchi leans over and drums on the table with his fingers. “Want another drink?”

Tobio picks himself up from his mug, shaking his head. “I have enough.”

“Isn’t the birthday boy supposed to drink the most?”

“I don’t drink much.”

“That’s not--” he stares at Tobio with wide eyes, then gives his head a little shake and lets it drop. “Anyway, happy birthday.” He reaches over with his own glass, knocking the edge against Tobio’s.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, mirroring Yamaguchi as he takes a drink. “For spending your last day with me, too.”

Yamaguchi smiles. “Don’t say that. We’re glad we saw you before we went back.”

“We?” Tsukishima echoes. His head turns in their direction. “Who’s the ‘we’ you’re talking about?”

“You and me,” Yamaguchi says, paying him no mind. He turns back to Tobio. “Was working on Coach Ukai’s farm that much fun?”

“Saving money for school,” he explains. “And then practice.”

“Volleyball keeping you busy then?” he says, but it doesn’t sound exactly like a question and so Tobio doesn’t try to find an answer.

He spins his drink carefully, trying not to let the ring of water on the table grow any more. “Do you…” he searches for the words carefully, “not like playing anymore?”

“Volleyball?” Yamaguchi looks sideways at him. “Mmm, I mean--I still--I like volleyball. But I feel like--this is embarrassing.” He stops, takes a long pull of his beer, and then wipes his lips with a napkin. “I guess I still like it, but losing in the tournament was like...the end. For me. I guess.” He looks up, “Does that make sense? Sorry, it’s just me really--I don’t--”

“I get it,” he interrupts, a little defensively. Just because volleyball is _his_ life doesn’t mean he can’t understand the people for whom it isn’t. “Do you still play though?”

“Sometimes, with Tsukki and stuff. We have an intramural team, and we sometimes just do little pick-up games. It’s really casual but it’s fun.”

“Fun,” he echoes.

Yamaguchi nods, taking it as agreement. “I miss volleyball, but it’s more like I miss the high school kind. Definitely playing with everyone, but I guess I miss when volleyball was the most important thing to me, you know? Like trying to make it to Nationals with everything we had. That was…” His voice gets this nostalgic twist to it. “I had a lot of fun.”

That word again.

 “Tadashi, you sound like an old man.”

“What? Do I?” Yamaguchi sits up, blushing at Tsukishima. “I was just making a point.”

Tsukishima nods as if he understands. “One must always listen to their elders.”

“How come you don’t play anymore then, Baka-shima?” Hinata challenges from across the table.

“Who says I don’t?”

“Wait, what?” Hinata’s genuinely surprised. Tobio too leans in a little closer to try and hear as well. “I didn’t know you played.”

“Tsukki’s the starting middle blocker at our school,” Yachi explains. “You didn’t tell them, Tsukki?”

“I didn’t think they cared about little old me.” Tsukishima smirks over his drink at them. “We’re just a tiny school after all, not like those two.”

“Hey! My school is tiny too! And I’m in your district! I’d actually play you!” Hinata’s offended. “What kind of friend are you? Keeping secrets from me like that?”

Tsukishima lifts a brow. “Oh, are we talking about secrets now? Is it time for that?”

Hinata tilts his head. “What?”

“Oh, just a rumor,” Tsukishima practically purrs. He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “I’m not sure if it’s real at all, because I’m assuming if you two knew, you would tell us. We’re friends after all, aren’t we?”

“Tsukki…” Yamaguchi murmurs.

The only effect Yamaguchi’s warning has is to make Tsukishima’s eyes shift momentarily in Tobio’s direction. He blinks back, perplexed. And then he catches Yachi’s eye at the opposite end of the table and she gives him a discreet little shake of her head and a glance in Hinata’s direction and all of a sudden, Tobio knows what’s coming next.

“What’s he talking about, Yama?” Hinata asks, still confused.

“I don’t--”

“Isn’t it strange,” Tsukishima interrupts gloriously, “that this is the first time all five of us have been together at once since we high school?”

“Is it?” Yachi interrupts with an awkward laugh, “It’s not that strange, is it?”

“Wasn’t there some strange drama at the end of third year? I seem to remember being called up at midnight to talk about feelings.”

“He’s just drunk. Ignore him,” Yamaguchi offers.

“Shush, Tadashi, I’m not even drinking. What I’m doing is saving us all a whole lot of grief.”

Tobio knows where this is going, and he suspects Hinata does too, because the boy sitting beside him has clammed up entirely and he grips the side of his chair with white knuckles.

Tsukishima’s pretense at humor has seemed to worn off, because the next time he speaks, it’s in his usual disinterested tone. “When were you two going to tell us about your relationship?”

Tobio barely registers what’s said next because all of a sudden something in his head is roaring--

A tiny part of him registers Yachi’s little shake of her head. Another part winces when Yamaguchi slaps a hand over his face. And the third part dimly listens to Tsukishima’s irritated snap: “Oh, don’t be insulting. She didn’t tell us and we didn’t need to ask.”

“Okay,” Yamaguchi allows hesitantly, “You two actually _are_ that obvious.”

\--Somehow though, Tobio finds himself looking at Hinata, and somehow he finds Hinata looking back. Then, the boy smiles and something in him goes quiet.

Between their chairs, he feels fingers wind through his and he feels something in his belly start to tickle.

 He winds his fingers back.

Hinata sticks his chin out at them--Tobio can’t decide if the flush high on his cheeks is the alcohol or something else--and says, “So what’s your point, Tsukishima?”

* * *

      **strength (n.)**

  1. the things you chase.
  2. the things you find.



 

 

“Spring isn’t a smell,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s a lot more than that.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I can’t explain it if you don’t get it.”

“Why does winter have a smell then?”

“Winter has a smell because it doesn’t have a sound,” Shouyou explains patiently. The alcohol has mostly worn off, taking with it the headache that was beginning to bother him, and he just feels pleasantly sleepy.

“So spring has a sound?”

Their elbows bump, and Shouyou nearly falls over, caught by a strong grip under his arm. “Spring has lots of sounds.” He leans into Kageyama’s grasp. “It’s like stirring.”

“Stirring soup?”

“No, like from sleep. Things waking up.” For one moment, he stops in the middle of the street, cupping both hands around his ears and closing his eyes, and he only opens them again when he realizes Kageyama’s hand has traveled down from his elbow to his waist. “Can I help you?” 

“I thought you were going to fall asleep.” Kageyama blinks down at him, all blue in his eyes, and Shouyou laughs, shrugging him off.

“I’m not tired,” Shouyou lies. To prove his point, he takes a step up onto the curb, using his arms as balance as he walks along the edge. “See? Could a tired person do this?”

“Yeah. Probably.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

“See? I rest my case.”

Kageyama’s laughter catches him off guard.

To be fair, it does every time. But it’s lighter than he always imagines it should be. That, and the way it catches in Kageyama’s eyes, has his heart doing weird skippy things all over the place.

He slips off the step, the boy laughing even harder as Shouyou catches himself against his shoulder with a sheepish grin.

“Not sleepy?”

“That was human error,” Shouyou bluffs, but it takes him longer than a second to move his hand from Kageyama’s sleeve, and then he only does it because Kageyama’s arms are around him again and they aren’t letting go. “Kageyama?”

“I’ll carry you.”

Shouyou twitches. “You’ll what?”

“Carry you.” Kageyama’s arms don’t let him go. “If you’re going to fall.”

Shouyou laughs again. “Are you drunk? How much did you drink?”

“I’m not drunk.”

“How much did you drink?” he repeats, trying to wriggle his way out.

“One beer.” His chin rests on Shouyou’s shoulder,  and maybe he’s not trying to get free at all. “Two hours ago.”

“Does that make you a super lightweight?”

“I’m not drunk,” Kageyama repeats himself softly and his laugh catches Shouyou offguard again. “I’ll carry you.”

He feels all off balance again and a better part of him is about to give in. “Do you _want_ to carry me?”

“Do you want to be carried?” Kageyama asks.

Shouyou doesn’t respond. Kageyama’s arms are steady against his back and though they haven’t moved a step in a while, he can feel his shoes slipping traitorously beneath him.

“No one’s watching,” Kageyama whispers in his ear and Shouyou has to lean away from those lips just because they’re dangerous. He presses one hand against Kageyama’s chest, feeling melted snowflakes beneath his fingertips.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” he argues flimsily. “C’mon, let me go!”

Kageyama laughs again and his arms loosen just long enough for Shouyou to slip free, his feet sliding on the ice.

He catches himself, then turns back to Kageyama, expression unimpressed. “Just cause you’re taller than me doesn’t mean you get to be the one doing the carrying.”

The boy blinks at him, then speaks, slowly, “You...want to carry...me?”

Shouyou turns away immediately to hide his flush, clicking his tongue like Kageyama’s missed the point entirely. In truth, he probably could have thought that one through better. “Don’t be dumb, Kageyama. C’mon, I’m cold already.”

“Then I’ll warm you up.”

Shouyou turns around again, only to find Kageyama hasn’t taken a single step. “What?”

“I’ll warm you up.”

“How do you say stuff like that?”

“Say stuff like what?”

Shouyou gives him a pointed look.

Kageyama just tilts his head, hair falling into his eyes. “What’s wrong with saying stuff like that?”

 _Nothing_ , one part says. _Everything_ , says the other. “Because,” says Shouyou, “you hardly talk at all during your own birthday dinner, and then now all you say is embarrassing stuff.”

It comes out sounding a lot more petulant than Shouyou wants it to. In truth, he couldn’t care less about how much Kageyama talks. In truth, he couldn’t care less about what Kageyama says. In truth, every part of him is still trying to believe the wonder that’s a love like this.

Kageyama exhales, obscuring his face for just a second behind a stream of white that catches the orangey streetlight. And then he pushes hair out of his eyes with his hand, making the strands stick up. Shouyou’s absurdly relieved that Kageyama doesn’t seem offended when he says, “I don’t know what else to do.”

He watches his words more carefully. “Just be more normal about it. You say embarrassing stuff like that all the time I’m not gonna recover.”

“Isn’t that good?”

Shouyou has to squint at him to decide whether or not he’s being serious. Except of course Kageyama is serious, because Kageyama is always serious. He tries to control his blush, touching his cheeks with his cold fingers.

“I’ll do anything you want,” Kageyama says, his voice soft, and then even Shouyou’s fingers are warm, heated up by the flush creeping up his neck.

“That’s stupid,” he retorts roughly, his voice not working properly. “You wouldn’t do _anything_.”

“Try me,” he challenges.

 Shouyou stares at him, fingers paused on his cheeks, feet slipping even though he’s standing still.

Anything and above is a bad idea, he thinks, but a part of him doesn’t believe it and a part of him really wants to. He didn’t know a love like this could be so encompassing, so drowning and frightening and so natural, as easy as making a wish.

“Carry me,” he hears himself say. “No, not like that. Come, come. Stand in front of me. Right--okay, crouch down--lower--”

“Just get on, Hinata,” Kageyama interrupts and Shouyou does as told. He wraps his arms around Kageyama’s back and tries not to let his heart be heard as Kageyama stands up in one swift motion, hands hooked under Shouyou’s legs.

“Am I heavy?”

“I don’t feel anything.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m stronger than I look.”

“You look plenty strong.”

“And I’m even stronger than that,” he snorts.

“How about I carry you? I’m twice as strong as I look.”

He can hear the laugh in Kageyama’s voice, even if he can’t see his smile. “Only twice?”

“Did I say twice? I meant two hundred times.”

“Still not enough.”

“God, maybe you need to work out more, Kageyama?”

“Don’t make me drop you.”

Shouyou gasps, “You wouldn’t!”

“Try me.”

“You’d drop me, Kageyama?” He tries to shift enough to see Kageyama’s face and he makes his voice as pathetically cute as he can. “You’d really drop me?”

Kageyama’s only response is silence, and that’s enough. He presses his forehead against Kageyama’s back, trying to will his heart to stop hammering so loud so that he can think for once.

“Kageyama, you said you’d do anything for me, right?”

“Mm.”

“What if I tell you to make the pro league? You’ll do it?”

“I’ll do it.”

“For me?”

“I was going to even without you telling me to.”

“How does that work then?”

Kageyama thinks about that. Shouyou can tell because he goes silent for a while. Finally he says, “Can I dedicate it to you or something?”

“How?” He mimicks an officious tone, “I hereby dedicate my contract with the panasonic panthers to Hinata Shouyou.”

“Yeah, that.”

“Kageyama, don’t be dumb.” He pokes the boy in the cheek.

“Why not?”

“Who knows what’s gonna happen in two years!”

“I do.”

“Oh yeah?” he challenges. “What’s that then?”

“I’ll make the pro league. And I’ll graduate from college. And I’ll play in the Olympics on the national team.”

“What about me?”

“You’ll…” he trails off, and Shouyou tilts his head to catch Kageyama’s eye, the boy turning his head back only for a second.

“What, _now_ you’re embarrassed? Say it. Say it, say it, say it!” He wiggles in Kageyama’s arms and laughs when he hears Kageyama swear.

“Don’t make me drop you, idiot.”

“You wouldn’t,” Shouyou says with utmost certainty.

No response, is a response.

“C’mon, finish your answer. What’s up with me in two years?”

“You’ll graduate. And--”

He pantomimes knocking on Kageyama’s head in absence of wood. “No guarantees.”

“Don’t interrupt me,” Kageyama tries to headbutt him.

Shouyou runs his fingers through Kageyama’s hair apologetically. “Alright, alright. What else?”

“I was going to say…” Again his voice trails off, but this time Shouyou waits patiently. “You’ll be with me?”

Somehow, he feels Kageyama waiting. Their pace doesn’t slow and Kageyama’s arms don’t let go and he doesn’t even give a single sign that he’s aware of what he said and how much it sounds like a proposal.

Shouyou wraps his arms tighter around Kageyama’s neck. “Was that a proposal or something, Kageyama?”

“Or something.” His voice is rough with embarrassment.

But then Shouyou laughs, only because it’s so absurd and stupid and lovely that he wants to believe it. And then he moves again, pressing down Kageyama’s collar with gentle hands and pressing a kiss to his neck.

“Yeah,” he says, “Okay.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to have the entire rest of the story written before I posted anything, but I got excited. :d  
> You guys waited long enough though. I'll upload the next two parts real soon. = w=


	4. awake in another's dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! It's been a while!  
> I have an excuse. I know it's not good, but just hold on. Just listen. Listen, okay. Writing sucks.  
> I love it to death, it’s what I want to do with my life, it is my reason for existence, but writing really blows chunks.  
> True story, the stars had to align in the rightest of ways for me to finish this chapter, this story. I've had nearly 10k words for the last two years, but I've only just managed to find the conclusion I was waiting for. 
> 
> So anyway, writing sucks. 
> 
> Secondly, thank you deeply for sticking with this story as long as you have. Probably unsurprising, but this is absolutely a personal story. Loneliness, feeling lost, hoping for more. These are my thoughts and my feelings, and I adore the comments that prove I'm not alone in this. That said, in general, I don't think it's possible to explain exactly how much a comment, (or a like, or a share, or a nonsensical something on tumblr) means to me, unless you're also a writer, in which case you know perfectly well what I'm talking about. What I'm trying to say is thank you for the support along the way. I don't imagine many people are waiting for this anymore, but just know it's far more for you guys than it was for me, as good as it feels to have accomplished this.  
> And I hope I don't disappoint.

     **age (n./v.)**

  1.     to grow, to become mature.  
  2.     a period of the human life. 



 

 

Once when he was younger, he had gotten lost in the shopping mall and he had thought he was going to die. All around him were elevators and strangers and lights that seemed to think nothing of his fear. He had been ready to level the whole world just to find her again.

The world back then being a bookstore in a shopping mall in a city on an island in the middle of the sea.

It’s weird how you grow up without noticing.

He brushes his fingertips against the hair on the back of his neck, trying to figure out when he had stopped fearing the world outside. He feels like he’s in a monstrous world now.

It’s an unpleasant feeling and he shifts from one foot to the other, scanning the crowds as if she’ll appear just because he wishes it so.

And then, with a flash of childish relief, he sees her, and the flood of familiarity makes him breathless for just a second. She has new lines on her face, or maybe she’s always had them and he just never noticed, but he recognizes her instantly. She tiptoes, holding her hat to her head as she searches for him. And then she turns and he raises a hand to greet her and everything in her face grows light.

The tightness in his chest gets a little worse.

It feels like the moment she had passed the end of the aisle and her expression broke into relief and she had scooped him up into his arms like she wasn’t ever going to let him go again.  
He catches himself smiling and he pushes his way through the crowd towards her. As soon as he’s near she murmurs a small “hey there,” and spreads her arms wide, beckoning him into a hug. He could swear her eyes are a little watery, and he wants to ask if she’s worried he had gotten lost somewhere, but he doesn’t.

But he doesn’t.

He has to stoop to reach her height, but somehow he still feels tiny in her arms, her fingers petting down his hair like he’s four years old. “Congratulations,” she whispers into his ear, and he has to fight a sudden, strange tightness in his throat.

Of all days to cry. Today’s the day even the government has decided he’s an adult; he ought to be better at keeping his shit together, right?

She’s holding him so fiercely part of him thinks she’s not going to ever let go. And then she does, only to look at him from arm’s length, her eyes dry and her expression wry. “Is it just me or are you getting more handsome?”

“Just you,” he pushes his bangs aside absently, but he takes her hand gently and protects her as he guides her out of the way of the crowd. Tobio’s careful to stand beside her so he blocks the brunt of the traffic. She seems not to notice though, her gaze directed out over the crowd, her eyes light beneath the brim of her hat. “Everyone looks so beautiful,” she says wonderingly, her attention fixed on the red and gold dresses, the heavy furred kimono, the elaborate hairpieces. Without looking, her hand finds Tobio’s arm and she slides her hand through his elbow, like she’s trying to anchor herself to something.

“Are you hungry?” he studies her. “Or tired?”

“Mmm,” she seems enraptured by it all, but then she eventually turns back to him and tilts her head thoughtfully. “You don’t want to go celebrate with your friends? You’re officially adults now, after all.”  
He shakes his head immediately. “I told them you were coming for the ceremony.” When she keeps staring at him, he adds, “they’re probably spending the day with their family too. Most of them are from Kyoto.”  
He can’t tell if she believes him or not, but she nods, smiling slightly at him. “Shall we do a late lunch then? Do you have any recommendations?”

Tobio has to be careful to keep from getting too excited, because yes, actually, I do. He had to ask Oikawa for help, but it was worth it. “Yeah,” he says neutrally, purposefully, tucking a little sheet of paper back into his breast pocket, “this way.”

His mother keeps her hand on his arm. “Is this the only day off you have?”

“Practice was cancelled today for seijin no hi, but it starts again tomorrow.”

“I see. And I realize this isn’t as important as practice, but what about classes?” she asks wryly.

Tobio feels a flush, but he stubbornly refuses to meet her eye. “No classes tomorrow. And then I’m off early on Wednesday.” He changes the subject. “Do you want to go somewhere?”

“Oh no, I’m easy to please.”

He returns her stare at her until she breaks down.

“Well maybe I’d like to see the bamboo forest? Or if there are any nice teahouses? You really don’t mind spending your days off with me?”

“I want to,” is all he says, leading her down an alleyway. For one thing, it’s the first time anyone’s visited him in Kyoto, so he’s particularly excited at practicing being a good host and showing them all the sights. He wants stars in their eyes. More importantly though, it’s his mother, and even though he’s seen her only a couple weeks ago back at home, having her come down for his Coming of Age Day is a gift he’s not going to waste.

And maybe a small part of him wants to practice being a proper tour guide, just in case.

“Right here,” he beckons to her, holding aside the drapes over the entrance with one hand, and then pushing open the door to the izakaya open with the other arm. She murmurs a thank you as she ducks under his arm, and then he hurries to shut the door behind him and take her coat before she can start to take it off herself.

It’s a cramped little room, that smells heavily of oil and fish. But the interior is clean and the seats are all positioned invitingly. He follows his mother to a couple of seats at the counter after hanging up their coats on hangers left on the wall.

“Welcome! I’ll be right with you!” comes a cheery call from inside, as they take their seats at an open table.

His mother seems enchanted with the atmosphere, poring over an odd-looking wooden mask that’s propped up at the end of their table as decoration. “How’d you find this place?”

“Suggested by someone on my team,” he says truthfully. “He comes here every week or something.”

“Welcome, welcome!” The voice belongs to a kind-looking woman, her pink apron somehow perfectly in place with the decor. She sets down two small glasses of water in front of them, then recognition lights up her eyes as she takes in his suit and neatly-combed hair. “Oh! You must be Tooru-kun’s friend! Tobio-chan, was it?”

He stiffens up, pretending not to hear his mother’s snort of laughter. “Oikawa-san said your food is really good.”

The woman blushes, waving him away with a hand. “This is your mother then? Just call me Hanako.” Even as she speaks she bustles around the kitchen, hardly stopping as she sets clay plates and paper chopsticks in front of the two of them.

To his astonishment, his mother seems perfectly at ease in all this. “Only if you call me Aya,” she returns cheerfully and Hanako beams at her. He’s only ever imagined his mother in the context of his childhood--taking him to volleyball games, standing with the other parents during sports festivals, waving at him from the gate of the day care. Something about this woman sitting next to him is different.

He can’t decide if it’s a new haircut, or if it’s the difference in scenery, or if it’s something in himself that’s changed too. But the tightness in his chest starts to unwind and he feels a little more twenty years old, a little less nineteen.

Hanako sets two matching cups down on the counter, then produces a frosted bottle of something clear. “On the house,” she winks, pouring them each a cup. “To celebrate Tobio-chan’s coming of age day.”

“Oh!” His mother claps her hands, looking delighted. “That’s so generous!”

“Kaa-san, do you even drink?”

She only slides him a smile.

“Of course, of course. Drink up. That’s special umeshu. Homemade, you know.” She stoppers up the bottle again, storing it away someplace behind the bar that Tobio can’t see. And then she gestures to him, urging him to pick up his cup like his mother.

From above his rim, he watches his mother take a drink first. Then her eyes widen and she licks her lips. “Oh, this is delicious! You said it’s homemade?”

While the women talk, Tobio sniffs his drink, then presses the rim against his lips and takes a careful sip. The first note is sharp and strong, but the second is almost fruity, a sweet flavor spreading across his tongue.

He looks up to find both women staring at him, Hanako looking knowing, his mother looking like she’s ready to laugh.

“How is it?”

He swallows first, licking his lips. “May I have another?”

*****

 

     **midnight** **(n.)**

  1.     the best time for snacks, secrets. 
  2.     when souls are most talkative and honest. 



 

 

“Niichan?”

He startles so bad he nearly falls out of his chair, just barely catching himself on the edge of his desk. “Natsu!” He shortens his voice into a whisper. “Don’t scare me like that!”

“Can I sleep with you, Niichan?”

“Here?”

“Mhmm.”

“I guess.” He covers the papers on his desk with an arm, as if afraid she can see his thoughts.

“Yay!” Immediately, she throws herself onto his bed, burying herself in his blankets. And then she peers up at him, eyes bright in the light from the hallway shining through the slit in the door. “Whatcha doin’?

He fumbles around for a textbook he knows he has somewhere. “Studying,” he says, then changes the subject. “How am I supposed to sleep if you’re taking up all the space?”

Natsu lies back down, squirming as she burrows deeper, making herself a permanent fixture. He has to admit: the princess star blankets suit her a little better than they do him. “I’m making myself tiny.”

“I don’t think you can make yourself tiny.”

“You’re tiny, I’m tiny. It’s okay,” she says, matter of factly. “You already said I could.”

It’s true. He did. He folds up the half-finished letter on his desk, sliding it into his backpack on the floor. Then he unfolds himself from his desk chair and shuffles to his bed with careful steps to avoid stepping on the crap he’s still got thrown around his room.

“Mama said you have to pack,” she says, watching him dig around in a pile of clean clothes for a blanket. “She’s gonna beat you up.”

“Don’t tell Ma then. Move over. Lift your--lift your butt, Natsu, I’m trynna get the blanket.” He huffs as he flaps it out, then lays it over her, and kneels on the mattress as he tucks it under her body, wrapping her up like a cocoon. “Good?”

“Good!” she says and he shushes her with a stifled laugh, flopping onto the bed himself with a contented sigh. “What about your blanket, Niichan?”

He rolls over, fumbling around for a blanket amongst the piles of clean laundry on the floor. He recognizes a blanket by touch and he pulls it out, gently at first, then in one sharp yank, upsetting all the piles of clothes his mom folded for him.

Immediately, Natsu snuggles closer to him, scooting close like a little worm with her arms pinned under the blankets.

“Ouch,” he mutters, as she kicks him in the shin. “Aren’t you too old for this?”

“Never,” she says, with utmost seriousness.

Obediently, he holds himself still, letting her make herself comfortable first, curling into a ball with her warm breath against his collarbone and her knees bumping his stomach. Then he gently eases into the spaces she’s left for him, tension flooding out of his body.

It’s so immediately nostalgic, even though it’s been like four years since the last time she slept in his room, that he’s struck with this sudden urge to cry. She had slept with him every night after the move, sneaking into his room and pulling at his covers until he woke up and let her crawl in next to him. And then she had stopped, when she started school and made her friends and their definition of home finally changed.

Now his definition is changing again, and he not sure at all where it’s going.

With a muffled grunt, he pulls his blanket up over her head, hugging her tightly against his chest.

“Niichan!” Natsu protests, noisily, fighting her way out of his arms.

“What’s up? I’m sleeping.” His voice is a sleepy grumble.

“Niichan!” She pops up through the blanket at the top with a loud inhale, blowing in his face, her arms still pinned in the blanket against her side.

“Yes?” he asks innocently, and he pokes her in the side until she’s laughing, fighting to keep her gigglefit quiet while he does nothing to help.

“Niichan! Niichan, stop! Stop!” She fights one arm free of the sheets and uses it to push him away.

“Shhh,” he murmurs again, like it wasn’t his fault in the first place. “Ma’s gonna wake up.”

“You!” she says, exasperated. He’s a little certain that the elbow he gets in his stomach was on purpose, but he lets it go. “Fine.” It takes another minute for her to get settled again. Kicking out the blankets, fluffing up (his) pillow, forcing him to the very edge of the bed as she balls herself up again.

“Good?” he asks, after a while, and he takes her non-reply as answer.

He’s going back to school soon, which means there are probably things he ought to be saying. Like good advice from an older bro, or how to survive the parents while he’s gone, or how much he’ll miss her and how he’ll promise to call. But he can see her cheeks and her eyelashes, dusted with light from the hallway lamp, and he doesn’t have the heart to disturb her.

Instead he whispers, “bathroom,” and pats her hair with his fingers. And then he pushes himself out of bed, tiptoeing around the mess he’s not going to think about until tomorrow, sliding out the door and closing it behind him as quietly as he can.

“Shouyou?”

He jumps badly. “K-Kaachan--” and then he traps the word before he can make any more noise. He points at his door, whispering, “Shh--Nacchan’s sleeping.”

His mom beckons him from the end of the hall and he follows, avoiding the creaky panels with measured steps. Automatically her arms open, and automatically, Shouyou falls into them, not that he knows why. Just that mothers are polarizing creatures. “She did say she was going to sneak into your room,” his mother murmurs absently, touching down the hair curling around his ear.

And then she pushes him back, holding him at arm’s length and squinting at his silhouette in the dark.

He can see a critical expression on her face, but before he can ask she interrupts: “Hungry?”

He grins. “I can eat.”

“Of course you can,” she gives him a slap on the shoulder, leading the way into the kitchen.

“Midnight snack or something? Do you do this every night?”

“Not every night.”

“Oh, then you didn’t like dinner either?”

“Watch it you.”

He laughs.

“It’s an excuse to spend some extra time with you, of course.”

That makes his laughter stop, only because it sits pleasantly in his chest, all tingly and warm. He’s been feeling like that a lot lately, but his mother’s brand of affection and Kageyama’s are still entirely different things.

Shouyou scoots his butt onto the counter, watching as she rummages around in the dark. “Lights?”

“No need. What do you want, chips or chocolate?”

“Chips.” He catches the bag that’s tossed his way, and then she settles herself against the counter opposite him. There’s a lot of noisy rustling as they open their snacks.

“Oh I shouldn’t need to tell you but--”

“--don’t tell Dad, I know.”

“Mhmm. I suppose university is really working for you.” She eats her second piece more slowly, the almond inside crunching. It’s quiet for a moment save for the sound of their chewing, the bag crinkling in Shouyou’s hands. “I don’t like this.” He can feel her watching him. “It’s going to be so lonely again without my favorite son.”

Shouyou laughs. “I’m your only son.”

“Well it’s a good thing you’re my favorite, isn’t it?” She smiles as she says it, just as she always does, and he feels a sense of warm affection spread through him.

“I can come back and visit every weekend if you’re going to be that sad.”

“Oh no.” She shakes her head. “I don’t want that.”

Shouyou pretends to be hurt. “I thought you said you were going to be lonely without me.”

“Of course I will. But I’ll survive, and you have things to do, places to see, things to learn.” She waves a hand. “You are learning things, aren’t you?”

“Of course!” he splutters, insulted.

His mother is unperturbed, hushing him almost reflexively, speaking around the chocolate in her mouth. “Sometimes I thought you only wanted to visit Baachan’s because you wanted to roll in the dirt. And now look at this, we’re paying for you to learn how to do it professionally.” She sighs dramatically.

“Only my rooming,” he reminds her. “I have a scholarship, remember?”

“To fling yourself across a court and whack a ball around. Of course. How could I forget?” He listens to the smile in her voice.

“Ma,” he makes sure to hit the right note of petulance in his voice.

Laughing, she sets her box of chocolates down on the counter and moves to stand in front of him. Her hands are cool on his cheeks, and he swallows his mouthful, tilting his head into her palm, letting her brush the tips of her fingers through the curls of his hair.

“Shouchan, are you happy?”

“With volleyball?” He doesn’t even need to think. “Of course.”

She shakes her head, looking more serious than he feels. “With everything.”

“University? Or life or something?”

“Everything,” she repeats very seriously, and he starts to wonder if this is an interrogation with the way she studies his expressions carefully.

But he doesn’t complain, only taking the question and considering it obediently. He is happy, is the most automatic response, because he’s always been happy. Not blindingly, of course; not like he can smile when he fails a test and laugh when Igarashi’s breathing flames in his direction, but happy in a softer way. In the way that knows tomorrow is an impossibility come true.

Unbidden, he thinks of Kageyama, and he smiles.

It’s his answer.

His mother smiles back at that, her thumb brushing the side of his nose. “You should always do what you want, alright?”

He laughs, “I thought you complain about me doing that.”

“That darn hypocrisy.” There’s a trace of a smile, but she gives his head a little shake with her hands, making him laugh. “We like to pretend you’re all a lot of trouble, but we like our bull-headed boys.”

“‘We’?”

“Mothers universal.”

“Then I’ll be the bulliest-headiest boy ever.”

Her own laugh is a whisper. “Oh Shouchan,” she sighs his name like a lullaby, “precious boy.”

He can feel her breath as she sighs, but every word she speaks is affectionate and proud and Shouyou’s throat gets a little sore with the effort it takes not to cry. Every time.

She rises up on her tiptoes, and he bends for her, letting her kiss his forehead. Automatically, he’s four years old again, but when he covers her hand with one of his own, her fingers feel so small under his and he wonders how long that’s been the case.

“Good,” she says as she settles herself back on her feet. Her hands are still on either side of his head and his back starts to hurt with the effort it takes to lean down. “Good,” she repeats, more warmly, and she pats his cheeks gently as she finally lets him go. “Are you already packed?”

“Of course,” he know it sounds like a lie, and it is, but he has to clear his throat to get the lump out of it. “Are you going to sleep?”

“I think so. Don’t stay up too late, y’hear?”

“Mhmm.”

His chest suddenly aches, thinking of all the nights he misses this while he’s away. He’s missed this sort of easy love. Simple, unselfish, endless love. He’s missed this feeling. Suddenly, he braces his palms against the counter, leaning forward with the intention of saying something meaningful and important. Things he’s never realized before, things he’s never said, secrets that he’s kept with him for so long he doesn’t even know how to bring them to life.

But then she waves at him one last time from the doorway, and says “goodnight,” in her sleepy, yawning voice, and all the words seem useless.

He smiles back, “Night, Kaachan.”

*****

 

    **to**   **learn** **(v.)**

  1.     to acquire knowledge, skill, by study, instruction, experience.
  2.     to discover.



 

 

“Tobio-chan,” Oikawa sings from the other side of the court, one finger levelled at him, “this one is coming for you!”

“Stop flirting, Oikawa, and just serve the damn ball,” Niiyama snaps.

Tobio tunes out the bickering, already used to it. Five years later and Oikawa hasn’t changed much. He only gives his attention to Oikawa enough so that he can read the angle of his body, the height of his jump, the arc of his arm, and then his own body is moving, adjusting to the serve incoming.

“Nice!” someone on his side calls out, but Tobio’s moving again, calling out for a toss.

“Left!” he calls--he chases the afterimage of a small, orange back--and jumps, feeling his palm connect hard with the ball. It slams down another point before he even drops to the ground, and he clenches his fist only for a second before he’s being tackled, someone forcing down his head as they ruffle their fingers through his hair.

“Nice one,” he hears their captain’s voice and Tobio tries to keep from grinning. “Maybe we actually can leave the team in your Tobio-chan’s hands, Oikawa?”

Across the court, Oikawa’s expression is as hard to read as ever. But then he meets Tobio’s eyes and puts a smile on. “Maybe,” he says, loftily, and turns away. “Alright, freshmen clean up quick so I can make it in time for my date tonight, everyone.”

“Kageyama-senpai,” a voice interrupts his thoughts. “Coach is calling you.”

He glances up, startled at first to find somebody’s still here, recognizing vaguely a first year on the second string. When their gazes meet, the boy flinches and looks away quickly, but Tobio doesn’t dwell on it.

Instead he nods, only to show he’s heard. “Thanks.”

He unwinds the tape from his fingers little by little, rewinding it in reverse on his opposite hand. There’s something satisfying about the faint tingles as his blood flows back into his fingertips; it feels like he’s still hitting the ball and it makes it easier to relieve the last few plays of the game.

He could fix up his speed and his approach, and there was a moment of hesitation with the setter that he ought to try iron out. Not to mention he nearly hadn’t been able to change direction. Flexibility then, or perhaps some exercises to work on striking to the inner line.

“Y-yeah,” the boy stammers, and then he backs out quickly, leaving Tobio alone again in the room.

Left alone again, Tobio pulls a shirt over his head quickly and stuffs everything else into his bag, pulling it onto his shoulder as he slams his locker behind him. He leaves the locker room behind, striding down the hall until he reaches the door marked ‘Volleyball Club’ and knocks as he pushes it open.

“Oh, Kageyama,” his coach half-rises as he enters, then sinks back down and waves a hand at one of the open seats on the opposite side of his desk. “Come, sit, sit. You know why I wanted to talk to you?”

Tobio sits. “I messed up during the second game--”

Their coach interrupts him with a laugh. “If I spoke one on one to someone every time they messed up a serve, I’d have no time for anything else. Come on now, can’t you guess?”

Tobio stares blankly back.

“Alright. So,” he clasps his fingers together in front of him, “I understand you intend to continue on to a professional league?”

Tobio sits a little straighter, leaning forward in his seat. “Yes, sir.”

“Will you tryout?”

“If I don’t get recruited before summer--before I’m a third year I mean.” He already knows his timeline is ridiculous, but he can’t help disliking the thought of anyone telling him he can’t before he even begins.  
Hinata would be pissed if he was anything else.

His coach laughs, “You have this all planned out then?”

Tobio tries to decide how much can be divulged. Eventually he settles on the plainest truth. “I want to make the team before I graduate.”

“And you will graduate?”

“Y-yes,” he says stiffly.

Coach snorts, “I’ll believe you when you bring up that math grade.”

“Y-yes, sir,” he mumbles.

“Anyway, you said, ‘the team’? So you already have one in mind?”

It doesn’t even occur to him to lie about this. “The national team.”

“Oh.” Coach stares at him for a beat too long and Tobio tilts his head.

“Oh,” he echoes.

“Are you--no. Of course, you are. Okay. Hold on--” he presses his hand against his forehead, “I need to rethink this a bit.”

Tobio waits obediently, until he starts to think that their coach isn’t going to say anything at all, and then he asks, carefully, “Coach?”

“Okay,” the man sits up straight again. “So national team is our goal.”

Our goal, Tobio lets that run in his head. He watches as the coach sits up, reaching for an already-opened envelope sitting in his tray of paperwork. When he’s nodded at, Tobio reaches over and accepts it.

“Go on,” he chews his thumb pensively, “read it.”

The paper crinkles as he shuffles it out of the envelope, and then again as he unfolds it, feeling the wrinkles under his thumb where Coach had opened it the first time. He reads. And then he glances up sharply and the man gives him an encouraging nod, and Tobio leans back over the letter, this time trying his best to read it as carefully as he can, as if the words are playing tricks on him.

“What do you think?”

He looks up, his eyes wide. “Is this for real?”

His coach blinks at him, “Why would I joke about this?” Tobio tries to think of an answer, but the man cuts him off. “Alright, don’t answer that. Answer my other question: what do you think?”

“Of trying out?”

“Well yeah. Do you have a team you want to play for?”

He shakes his head, “As long as I can play.”

“Mm, that’s what I thought.” He strokes his chin. “Next practice, you’ll be starting then. Recruiters will be there, so no fooling around.”

“I don’t.”

“It’s a figure of speech, Kageyama.” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “Anyway, I’ll let you know again then if anything else comes up for you, but for now, at least know you have this to fall back on.”

He manages to make it sound like a dismissal and Tobio gets to his feet, folding the letter up in his hands and stuffing it back into its envelope hurriedly. He makes to hand it back.

“No, keep it.” The coach waves it away, “I doubt it’ll be the last.”

*****

 

     **sunset** **(n.)**

  1.     the close, or final stage of any period. 



 

 

“I thought fourth year was supposed to be your busiest time, Shou-chan.”

Shouyou looks up from the garden, streaks of dirt running down his cheek. “It is. Whatcha mean?”

“Well it’s been just so long since you visited, I thought I wouldn’t get to see my grandson until I had a fall or some sort like that.”

He hops to his feet immediately, expression twisted up. “Baa-chan, don’t say stuff like that! Hurry, find some wood, knock on wood!” He scrambles through his tools, looking for a shovel or something with a wooden handle.

The old woman interrupts him with a sharp rap of her knuckles against the wall she’s leaning on, “Shou-chan, my entire house is wooden. My lord, what are they teaching you there in university?”

“Baa-chan, it’s not funny! You’re not allowed to get falling or getting hurt. Okay? No getting hurt or sick,” he repeats himself firmly, brandishing his shovel like a rulerstick and a lecture.

Just to pacify him, she nods and crosses a finger over her heart, but her smile is somewhat reassuring. “Would you happen to have a remedy for old age in that garden of yours, Shou-chan? I’d like to avoid that too.”

Against the better part of him that still worries regardless, he catches himself laughing.

“Maybe something for your Jii-chan’s farting, while you’re at it.”

Shouyou abruptly stops laughing. “Actually! Peppermint tea helps out with bloating and gas, you can always try that. I planted it to help grow your zucchinis. It’ll probably keep those bugs away that you were talking about. If you pick some and steep it--”

“Alright,” she waves him into silence, “Come in and tell us over dinner instead. Are you hungry?”

Shouyou pulls off his wide-brimmed hat, wiping his face with an already dirty towel. “Starving,” he admits, and peels his gardening gloves off one by one. “You guys can start eating! I’ll go wash up!”

“We’ll wait,” she calls after him, “but hurry! Your grandfather wants to eat the table setting already.”

“Oh! You know what? Actually, cornflowers are edible if you--”

“Hurry,” she repeats, and he snaps off a salute, gathering up his tools and trotting down the stone steps away from the house to the garden shed by the edge of the trees. A heavy musty smell hits him as he pushes open the door, but he props it open with a flower pot and lets the dust motes pour out into the fading sunlight. That’s the same light that illuminates his hands through the window as he dumps everything into the rusted sink and runs the water, washing his tools, his hands, the dirt on his face.

And then he hears his name, Natsu’s clear voice ringing out down to him. He shuts off the faucet, cold water dripping from his chin.

“Niichan!”

“What?” He pads to the door, drying his face with his shirt.

“Niichan! The sun’s setting!”

“What?” He trots to the door, drying his face on his shirt.

“The sunset!” She yells back, and he gasps, dashing back to the sink and ignoring the water dripping down his shirt.

Hurriedly, he sweeps everything into a bucket and drops that by the door as he leaves, pushing the flowerpot back into place and letting the shed door bang shut behind him with a rusty creak.

He takes the steps two at a time, his bare feet slapping on the smooth stones, and then he reaches the top, almost collapsing when he reaches the top. Natsu stands a few feet away from the edge, staring at him expectantly.

Without missing a beat, he crouches and lets her climb onto his shoulders, the two of them facing the house, away from the steps.

“Ready?” he asks, a little breathlessly.

“Ready,” she pats the top of his head. “You’ve got dirt on your face by the way.”

“I’ll get it later,” he replies, and then they both close their eyes--he can feel her hands holding on more tightly beneath his chin--and he turns around, feeling out the edge of the first step with his toes.

“One.” -- He counts in a singsong voice.

“Two!” -- Natsu chimes back.

“Three.” -- They open their eyes together and Natsu’s gasp above him captures all his feelings and the sudden tightness in his chest.

Above them, the sky slopes from blue to red to orange, the clouds stumbling low over the sky in another spectrum of bright color. And when the little village he grew up in starts to glow with little lights, twinkling on one by one, he feels like a king and this his world.

He imagines the wind tugging at his clothes is just for him, calling, asking, begging him to fly.

And then Natsu nudges him in the ribs with her heel and he blinks like he’s waking up. “Don’t drop me, Niichan,” she warns, and he hums a reply, too busy trying to press all of this into his memory so that he can tell it to Kageyama again at some point.

He only realizes he’s stopped breathing when his lungs start to protest, and then it takes him another moment to remember how to work them, inhaling quietly until he feels less lightheaded.

“Okay,” he breathes out, “Let’s go to dinner.”

He turns back around, bending over until Natsu can step off his shoulders. “Niichan, don’t forget the dirt on your face--”

“Oh, right.” He finds a damp spot on his shirt and scrubs at the mark until his cheek feels raw, trotting after his sister into the house. “Sorry for the wait,” he says as he drops into his seat.

“Nice sunset?”

Shouyou pauses scooping rice and then doling them out in bowls.

“Eight outta ten,” she judges.

“I’d say ten,” Shouyou amends, and Natsu shakes her head.

“No no, definitely eight.”

“Solid nine.”

“Eight,” she insists, shoveling food into her mouth with her chopsticks held in her fist. "But it  _is_ better now that Niichan's taller."

“Solid ten,” Shouyou tells his grandparents, and Baachan smiles indulgently at them both as she sips from a cup of tea.

“Strange tradition, that,” Jiichan adds, and Shouyou’s inclined to argue, but he doesn’t.

It sits inside him. The feeling of the wind at his back, the quiet of the whole world spreading out beneath him, and somewhere between the dawning black and the fading red, that exact shade of blue that’s his, all his. 

*****

 

    **honeymoon stage (n.)**

  1.     oh, bliss. 



 

 

“Kageyama Tobio.”

He says his whole name like a fact, but Tobio isn’t sure whether or not he’s supposed to nod like ‘yes, that’s my name’ or greet him back.

“Ushijima-san,” he finally says, throwing in a little bow just because even if he doesn’t love the guy, he recognizes him. Like a good contribution to the sport. Doing something. Certainly playing on one of the top teams of the international league counted as “a contribution”.

Then there’s a moment of silence, the two of them regarding each other quietly. It’s not like Kageyama can ask what he’s been up to, because the name Ushijima Wakatoshi is synonymous with the word volleyball, plastered on every magazine, heralded as the new great ace of Japan’s national team. How could he not know what he’s been up to?

For a single moment, Tobio wishes Hinata were there beside him, because Hinata had done the talking the last time they were facing off like this and Tobio wants to let him do it this time too.

But then Ushijima bows a second time. He gives a small nod as he passes, and Tobio watches him go and rejoin the few members of the team that came to watch the tryouts.

In turn, he shoulders his bag and heads in the other direction, pushing through the double doors and squinting his eyes closed against the bright light outside.

“Kageyama!”

He shields his eyes with a hand, but only catches a blur of motion before something’s tackling him around the middle, nearly driving him straight into the wall.

“How’d it go? How was it??” Hinata barely lets him pick himself up. “Did you do well? Did you show them your serve? What team are you going to be on?”

Tobio pushes him back with one hand, a physical defense to Hinata’s exuberance. “Watch it,” he grumbles, but it’s only half-hearted, because Hinata’s enthusiasm is infectious and sweet and surprise, and who would actually mind Hinata fawning over them like this?

“Did you set? How did they run the tryouts?” Hinata grabs his wrist and from there his fingers slide down, tapping against Tobio’s palm, inches, centimeters, milimeters away from twisting between his. He asks very seriously, “Was there anyone as good as me?”

Tobio shrinks the gap himself. He shakes his head. “There was a guy who was a little better at--” He gets a fast punch in the stomach that leaves him doubled over and breathing hard. “You didn’t let me finish,” he wheezes.

“I’m sorry--what were you about to say?”

“He was better at receives,” he catches his breath with some difficulty, “but you’re still the best. For me,” he adds the last bit, as if it weren’t obvious enough. “Besides, everyone is better than you at receives.” He eyes Hinata’s fist warily.

But instead of retorting like Tobio expects, Hinata only makes a small humming sound and looks away, almost absently patting Tobio’s back to help him recover.

“Hinata?”

“Mm?” He turns around, his gaze taking a moment to center on Tobio. He seems to realize he’s been weird, cause he tilts his head and tries to play it off. “What?”

“Are you…” Tobio frowns, trying to decide the right word. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Tobio’s eyes narrow suspiciously. That was almost immediate, but there was a pause, a moment of indecision, something swallowed and unsaid. “Hinata.”

“What?” Hinata tilts his head to the side, his voice kept light. Somehow Tobio has the feeling he shouldn’t ask.

He studies Hinata for a second longer, and then give in, sighing under his breath and tousling a hand through his hair, slightly stiff from sweat. He should have showered, but Hinata had said he was coming and

Tobio hadn’t wanted to make him wait. “What do you want to do today?”

Hinata looks relieved, just for a second. “I’m starving. Are you?”

“Do you even need to ask?”

“Okay good. My favorite ramen place is opening a new branch by your house! Do you wanna go?” He smirks, “Does your diet allow ramen?”

Tobio frowns, “I can eat whatever I want.”

“You just choose to only eat pasta and drink milk.”

“Do you want ramen or not?”

Hinata laughs, jumping onto Tobio’s back, wrapping his arms around his neck. “Yes please!” He kisses Tobio’s cheek, “Please take me to eat ramen. Also please pay for me, I get my paycheck at the end of the week.”

“Only cause I did well in tryouts,” he gives in all reluctantly like, and if Hinata can see through him, he doesn’t say so. 

*****

 

    **to bare (v.)**

  1.     unconcealed, undisguised. 
  2.     as in,  _to bare the truth_ , to be honest, even when it's terrifying. 



 

 

“Just say it.”

“But it’s...not a good thing.”

“So? Just say it anyway.”

Honest to a fault, really. Shouyou bites his lip, gazing at the calendar above his desk. Dates and reminders scrawled all over its pages, smeared in some places where his hand was too hasty. Near the bottom, he has the whole week circled nearly a thousand times, marked with ideas and plans and every single spot he’s ever thought ‘I wish Kageyama were here to see this’.

He wants to get this out into the open before Kageyama comes, because he’s not sure he can handle seeing Kageyama’s reaction in person.

“You don’t want to live with me later?”

“I do!”

“Are you seeing someone else?”

“Kageyama, that’s just—”

“Then do you not like me anymore?”

“No!” Shouyou says immediately, horrified to even hear the words in that order and in that tone. He’s not sure if he imagines it, but on the other end of the line there’s a sigh of relief and he grips the phone tightly, mind leaping to some romantic gesture that he can use to convince him otherwise.

Kageyama speaks before he can. “Then there’s nothing you can say that would bother me.”

Shouyou’s not sure if that makes him feel better or worse, because how can Kageyama make such a decision when he doesn’t even know what’s coming? He makes a small sound, just to say he’s still there, even though now he feels guilty just because he’s been dragging it out for too long. He keeps dancing around the truth, and he can sense Kageyama on the other end of the line growing impatient.

Finally, he forces himself to take a breath like he’s about to speak, hoping it’ll loosen his tongue. “I—” he starts, and stops, and he can half hear Kageyama’s voice. Let’s break up then. It withers his heart inside his chest and all of a sudden he wants to cry, which only makes him feel even worse.

“Hinata,” Kageyama’s voice is softer now. “It’s okay,” he says, and his voice is the gentlest Shouyou’s ever heard, “you don’t have to say it if you don’t want to.”

For whatever reason, it makes him feel stronger. He pinches his nose and says in a nasally voice, “I’m not sure I’m going to keep playing after we graduate,” so quickly that some of his words blend together.

“Keep playing...” The longest pause in the world, “...volleyball? You’re going to quit?” There’s disbelief written between every word. “Hinata, are you serious?”

“I wouldn’t—” he struggles, and his voice sounds strangled, “I wouldn’t joke about this.”

And it’s true, he wouldn’t. Volleyball has always been his first love. The thought of losing it fills him with an almost sort of dread and sometimes over the last few days, he’s found himself wishing he could go back in time. But then he thinks that maybe that’s just nostalgia, that maybe it’s just a different sort of love.

He doesn’t know quite when it’s happened himself. What he does know is sometimes he misses a practice because he’s studying for this final or this test or when he needs to take care of something for his garden and somehow, somewhere, he woke up one day and thought, with an alien feeling, that it wasn’t the end of the world.

He also doesn’t know how to say any of this, not to Kageyama.

There’s another echoing silence, and then the inevitable question. “Why?”

“Because…” Shouyou catches himself drumming his foot against the ground and he pushes a hand against his knee to make himself stop. “Because I don’t know. I don’t have time.”

“You can just make time, can’t you?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Don’t make another excuse.”

“It’s not an excuse,” he snaps back, a little too defensively. He pinches his nose again since it seemed to work the first time. “I’m just busy with other stuff. That-that I like doing a lot.” He releases his nose once it gets hard to breathe, trying to get air back into his lungs and keep talking before Kageyama can interrupt him. “And I still like—no, I still love playing—really—but I’m—”

Not a kid anymore.

Okay not being the greatest volleyball player in the world.

“Busy,” Kageyama says stiffly.

“...Right.” He wants to deny it, but it’s true. If the days were a hundred hours long, he’d never stop playing until the day he died. But he thinks of his team, of Kyoei. Of catching the first bus up the mountain just to get to campus, of watching the gym lights flicker on while the snow falls outside. He thinks of the way the heaters hum, how their shoes squeak, the sleepy unfurling of nets and stretching of muscles. That’s what volleyball is to him now. The ritual.

He thinks of Karasuno, of Kageyama. Of breath unfurling in plumes of smoke, of the need to run. Time passing so incessantly that he feels like he blinks and they were all over. Something aches in his chest in an old, almost forgotten way. He wants to feel like that again when he plays, that’s what he wants. A part of him would give anything for it.

But then another part softly says that he’s just as happy where he is now. That he’d rather have it exactly like this, on the phone with his boyfriend a week before he comes to visit, flowers and ferns tacked to his walls, the world muffled outside with snow.

Kageyama sighs on the other end of the line. Cloth rustles through the phone and Shouyou sits still, listening hard, trying to scratch an image out of these soft sounds. Is he getting dressed? Is he going out? Is he getting into bed?

“Are you still there?” He asks, scratching his ankle with his toe anxiously.

“Yeah.”

That’s all. Just ‘yeah’.

He picks at a callus on his heel.

“...And?” he prompts, cautiously.

“And what?”

Shouyou resists the urge to smack his forehead with his palm.

“Kageyama,” he begs, “you can’t just stop talking.”

“What do you want me to say?” he asks. Shouyou recoils from the words, but Kageyama’s tone is frank and weaponless. “Am I supposed to try and make you change your mind?”

“N-no. Does that mean…are you okay with it?”

“Okay with it—no, dumbass. Why would I be okay with it?” Kageyama snorts, and Shouyou gets the distinct vision of his boyfriend rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, brows furrowed.

“Oh. Right, right.” he replies, chastened.

“But okay, I guess. Is that all you wanted to say?”

“No. Uh, yes. But I still-I still want to talk to you. Unless you’re mad—”

“Stop telling me I’m supposed to be mad,” he snaps, voice low and irritated. “I’m not mad.”

“You sound sorta mad.”

“I’m not mad!” He controls himself. “Stop saying I’m mad. I’m not. I’m just-I have to get used to it.”

*****

 

     **home (n.)**

  1.     a heartbeat, a soul, a smile. 



 

 

This time, Tobio’s on the opposite side of the gate, the one waiting to be found instead of the other way around. He resists the urge to check his phone, keeping a tight fist wrapped around it in his pocket in case a message comes through, keeping his attention on the staircase, keeping an eye out for a tuft of orange hair and Hinata’s sunshine smile.

He feels even more out of place than usual, everything distinctly unfamiliar. He’s not even sure which direction he’s facing at the moment, only that he keeps getting odd looks from the people around him as they stare at the giant in their midst.

The next thing he knows, however, Hinata’s yelling his name from across the other way, cutting through the crowds and waving an entire arm at him like they do in the movies. His head pops up from among the crowd here and there, until he finally breaks free and shows no sign of stopping.

“Kageyama! Kageyama! Kageyama! You’re here!” are the first words out of his mouth, shouted in the tunnels so they echo. He forgets his self-consciousness immediately.  
Tobio pushes himself off from the wall, hand on his neck. He was half expecting to see someone unrecognizable, absurd as it is. But volleyball or no, Hinata looks the same as ever, and he can’t help but smile, as Hinata throws himself into a hug that nearly breaks Tobio’s bones.

“Mmmm…” Hinata’s voice is muffled against Tobio’s shirt and his chin digs into Tobio’s chest. “I can’t believe I didn’t die waiting for you to come.”

Immediately, Tobio is struck with the impulse to kiss this boy, but he restrains himself with a frustrated sigh.

“You’re talking too loud,” he murmurs instead, and he holds him just as tightly back.

When Hinata pulls back, he’s bright-eyed, and he makes a valiant effort to lower the volume, touching a finger to his lips confidentially. They’re both faintly red as they look around carefully, and then Hinata gestures with a hand, beckoning Tobio towards the railway lines. “Want me to carry your bag for you?”

“I got it.”

Hinata takes it anyway, hauling it over his shoulder with so much force it nearly swings around and topples over a high school girl walking past. She just barely escapes with her life and Hinata trudges on, oblivious, leading the way down the stairs Tobio had been watching. They swipe their passes through the ticket gate and Tobio follows this confident, easy Hinata with mild confusion, shaken by the realization that this is Hinata’s world.

There’s a dissonance. He already knew Hinata lived in another city, that he had friends and responsibilities and a life. It’s just odd to see the proof. To think of Hinata taking these trains every morning. It makes him feel distant, like an echo, and the next thing he knows, he’s reaching forward.

To grab his bag, he thinks absently, but instead his hand finds Hinata’s and he squeezes it, relishing the way the shorter boy’s expression changes. First startled, then pleased.

And then the moment passes and their fingers drift apart. Tobio notices the way the tips of Hinata’s ears have turned pink and he feels a flush against his throat. As the train runs past and brings with it a wave of cool air, his fingers are still warm. Hot, almost. He blows gently on his fingertips as they board and Hinata automatically moves towards the door on the opposite side of the car, leaning up against the wall and settling Tobio’s bag between his legs.

And then he gestures, tapping the space against the door beside him, and Tobio fits himself in before its taken, his leg pressed against Hinata’s, their hands touching beneath their coats. Hinata grins up at him and the dissonance closes, the echo disappears, and it might as well just be the two of them on the back seat of an empty bus again for all Tobio takes notice of the people around him.

“Hey,” Hinata nudges him with an elbow. “You’re staring.”

Tobio leans down as if he’s about to whisper something secret and smirks as Hinata shifts, pushing himself up on his toes, one self-conscious hand on Tobio’s waist.

“What?” he asks in a soft whisper. He’s already smiling, like he’s already heard a joke.

But instead of speaking, Tobio just brushes aside a lock of bright hair and taps a kiss against Hinata’s collar and watches, pleased with himself, as the skin turns red and Hinata drops back onto his feet and his hands become little fists in Tobio’s clothes.

“What are we going to do today?” he asks, pretending he hasn’t noticed his handiwork.

What he expects is a scuffle, Hinata trying to beat him up for doing something so embarrassing in public, but the next thing he knows, there’s a warm hand against the hot skin on the small of his back, just beneath the waistband of his pants and he starts violently, nearly knocking over the man who had the misfortune of standing next to him.

Hinata bursts into laughter, clapping his fingers over his mouth to try and stifle the sound, and then they’re both blushing, each acutely aware of others looking in their direction, but strangely fine with it, with the newness of it all.

The novelty of being together in more ways than one.

It feels almost dangerous. In Miyagi, Tobio couldn’t help but feel as if he were back in high school. The years in between had fallen away and he kept thinking Finally. Finally his feelings had gotten across. Finally they were together. Finally, finally, finally. He felt like it was the end to the waiting. Some sort of grand conclusion.

But it’s not, is it?

The train runs on. The buildings around them suddenly drop and then there are long, low gaps between trees, of school buildings with red roofs and white soccer fields beside wide rivers, and the houses grow lonelier, quieter, with bikes in the yard and empty glass bottles on the fences.

It empties out all of a sudden at just one stop, everyone on their car getting off, except for two old women. The women sit together in a little booth, heads together, speaking in low voices. Hinata revels in the emptiness, walking on shaky legs up and down the aisle as Tobio watches from his seat. He catches himself on the bar and spins back, while long lines of light slant across the floor.

“You’re going to fall,” Tobio says, just before the train gives a little shudder and Hinata barely catches himself in time, dropping into the seat across from him. “See? What did I tell you.”

“What are you, my mother?” Hinata rolls his eyes, letting his legs sprawl out until his toes nudge against Tobio’s shoes. “When do you leave again?”

He doesn’t want to think about it. “Wednesday.”

“What time?”

“Whenever.” He gives him a suspicious look and Tobio amends it. “By six, at the latest.”

“twenty two...twenty three?...A hundred twenty three hours left?”

Tobio hates the sound of it. “Don’t say that. It makes it seem short.”

“Mmm. You like ‘five days’ better?”

“I don’t like any deadline,” he grumbles, and Hinata laughs, sliding across the aisle to nestle himself against Tobio’s side.

“Alright. We’ll try pretending you’re never leaving.” His hand squeezes Tobio’s briefly. And then he goes, “Oh! Oh, get ready!” Tobio finds himself pulled to the window. “Almost...almost….There! That building there, that’s my place!”

It whizzes past in a blur, a little three story apartment complex with only a handful of doors, pressed up against the rail crossing.

The next stop is just a wood-framed building with a post asking for tickets and no one manning the gate. They’re the only passengers to get off at this stop, and Tobio looks around, mystified by this much country in a place that’s not home. “Are we still in the city?”

“Of course,” Hinata says, twirling a hand in the air. “We were only on that train for half an hour.”

Half an hour is a long time, Tobio wants to say. Half an hour out of Kyoto is basically a new city altogether. But he doesn’t argue and he’s distracted anyway, when Hinata takes his hand and swings it between them, their shadows dancing on the pavement in before them.

“Hinata…” Tobio says warningly, but the boy pays no mind.

“I’ve been waiting forever for this,” he says, voice warm. Tobio runs out of argument.

They make the five minute walk back the way they came, following the tracks, counting the trains as they pass and listening for the crossing bell. The pass beneath the tracks once, a low pedestrian walk that seems too dangerous to be allowed, and Tobio has to stand there uncomfortably, ducking his head while Hinata waits. The tracks throw slats of light on his face and dust begins to shake down on them as the bell starts its warning and still he waits for the train to come

The train roars overhead with a thunderous sound. Tobio feels his bones shake, but he can’t take his eyes from Hinata, from the way he stands, arms held out, eyes closed, expression caught up in soundless laughter.

His ears ring.

He’s sweating by the time they stop at the low apartment they had seen before. It’s stairwell is cramped and poorly lit, but Hinata passes it by, walking through the cool shade of the entryway and down the first floor walkway to the second room from the end.

Here, Hinata pauses, turning around with his back to the door and his arms crossed in front of him.

“Are you sure,” he begins to say in a grave voice, “you’re ready for this?”

Tobio leans against the banister, fanning himself with his shirt. “Ready for what?”

“To see my home. Your home. For the next three days.”

“Do you have air conditioning?”

“No, who do you think I am? I’m a poor college student—”

“Then I’m going somewhere else.”

“Whoa wait! Come back here.” He doesn’t let go of Tobio’s arm even while he pulls open the door, twisting his body around it to get them both in. “Okay, just...just know I’m a poor college student.”

“I heard you already,” Tobio mutters. Hinata’s got three pairs of shoes lying haphazard in the doorway, but Tobio notices immediately that his volleyball shoes are resting properly against the wall, heels together, laces tied. For whatever reason, Tobio is immensely charmed by this, and he takes a moment to put his shoes together the same way, pushing them out of the way before he steps into the hallway and peers his way into the living room/bedroom/dining room/everything else. Hinata’s already there of course, having not bothered.

He throws open the curtains and the sun comes pouring in, illuminating every lift of dust so they looked like embers, sparks, fire that dances and then settles, all around his shoulders. Tobio thinks, jeez, and averts his eyes because his heart can only take so much at once.

“Where do I put my stuff?” he asks, clearing his throat carefully.

Hinata pops open the sliding door and the stale, hot air in the room grows warmer but lighter, the curtains lifting every so often with a soft breeze.

“Right this way, sir.” Hinata’s all waving hands and bowing at the waist. He takes one step back and gestures grandly around him. “Our top suite.”

He feels a smile tug his lips as he drops his duffel on the ground next to the coffee table, pulling off his backpack and dropping it on top. The table itself is already occupied, by little clusters of potted plants and a watering can.

There are more plants outside on the balcony as far as Tobio can tell. No desk, just pillows on the ground and a volleyball, settled against the wall. But there are pictures. A trio of large corkboards, studded with colorful tabs that each have a picture pinned in place. The larger two are full of notebook tear outs and polaroids, people Tobio doesn’t recognize on many of them; he doesn’t linger long on those. But the smallest one, the closest, seems to have been reserved solely for people back home. There’s one of their team, when Daichi was captain, another with Yamaguchi at the helm. Strips of purikura, Hinata and Yachi grinning up at him with cartoonish eyes. He feels a pang of nostalgia.

Tobio knows he’s hardly posed for pictures, so he’s not expecting much, but he’s surprised to see that there a multiple ones of him, though they seem to have been cobbled together, a collection of sorts. Hinata’s mother seems to have been the photographer for most; the two of them at sports festivals, or ones with Natsu tagging along. Some Tobio doesn’t even know where they’re from: him staring out the window in some car, him eating lunch where they always sat, him sleeping in the classroom, sun spilling across his back. There seems to be an entire corner of the board dedicated to Kageyama and it makes him feel funny, caught between embarrassment and amusement.

Hinata is watching him, shy smile on his face.

“What’s—” Tobio starts to say, then finds he has to clear his throat. He touches a post it note that’s been folded up, it’s writing obscured, pinned right at the edge next to the same poster Yachi had made of them in high school. “What’s this?”

“Oh, nothing. Notes from school.”

He’s so perfectly flippant about it that Tobio doesn’t bother inquiring further. He’s careful to flatten all of the postings down again, so they don’t fall, and then he turns around, clearing his throat again to get rid of the knot that’s somehow formed. “Where do I sleep?”

Hinata gestures at the bed with wide, innocent eyes.

“Then where do you sleep?” he asks, even though he already gets the answer.

Hinata gestures at the bed again, this time with a sly, little smirk.

He eyes the bed dubiously. “It’s the same size as a bathtub.”

“We’ll make it work,” Hinata says flippantly. “Come, look.” He leans forward and pulls Tobio by the hand, pushing him insistently until he’s sitting on the fold-out futon, back against the wall. He resists as much as he can, since he’s been traveling all day and his feet must stink, and the last thing he wants is his socks to touch his bed, but then Hinata jumps onto the mattress too and straddles Tobio’s outstretched legs and he notices with a delayed sense of time that his legs are too long for the bed in the first place.

Hinata cups his face in his hands and it’s hard to tell what’s the summer heat and what’s the other boy’s warmth and what’s just the usual flush, what Hinata’s mere presence does to him.

“Gosh.” He presses sweaty forehead against sweaty forehead. Tobio’s lips feel abandoned. “I can’t believe you’re finally here.”

“You said that already.” He presses his face into Hinata’s chest and breathes in, thinking maybe he can’t believe it either.

“Yeah, well.” Hinata hugs Tobio’s head to his chest and his narrow chin rests uncomfortably on top of Tobio’s head. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this you know.” He can feel Hinata speaking just as much as he can hear him, a hum against his ear, a vibration on his skin. 

He holds him a little tighter, just so. 

“See?” Hinata says. “Good, isn’t it? Or do you want more room?” 

This is it. This is what he wants for the rest of his life. This inexplicable feeling that he doesn’t know what they’re doing tomorrow, only that they’re doing it together.

Finally they were together and there was no going back.

Tobio links his hands behind Hinata’s back, interlocking his fingers so there’s no escape. “No,” he says, “I’m good.”

*****

 

     **beginning (n.)**

  1.     the point of time at which anything starts. 



 

 

This is how he knows:

Everything is reduced to dark lines and hard angles. With all of his furniture gone, the apartment feels so wide that it makes him feel small.

He doesn’t feel like crying, but there is an emptiness inside him. Not sadness, he thinks, because sadness feels more...more. More heavy, more significant. Not particularly nostalgic, or anxious. He’s not even sure it’s something negative. Why all of a sudden though? He's been waiting for this day for so long, all he wants is for morning to come-- the sooner, the better.

And yet, he has the feeling that if he falls asleep, or at least if he ever manages to, his dreams will be uncomfortable. Wired and hyper-lucid, because morning is coming and that's what he can't believe.

With morning, everything changes.

As soon as that thought appears, he resigns himself to wakefulness, shifting uncomfortably on the hard floor, fumbling for his phone on its charger.

And then he calls, the dial-tone echoing, going on forever and ever and just when he thinks about giving up (on the third ring), something gentle crackles and Shouyou says, first thing, “I wa-n’t sl-eepin.”

Tobio doesn’t argue, even though everything about him is sleepy: the way he breathes is slow, his voice smooths over something warm. “I- sw-ear.” His unused voice crackles over the words that are too hard, “—ou sad or somehin-? —why you calle—?”

Tobio struggles to get comfortable, shifting to his back and letting his shoulder blades dig into the floor, staring up at the ceiling, criss-crossed with lights from the window. “Talk to me,” he says—demands—trying not to let his voice get too far away from him. Once it starts to grow, he feels like the emptiness will become too obvious and overwhelming, like a voice in a cave that has no echo.

Shouyou sighs soft. “‘bout what?”

“Anything.”

“—mmkay."

He's quiet for a moment, long enough for Tobio to think he’s fallen back asleep. Until abruptly, he says, in a clearer voice, “Three choices. Would you rather know what happened to me on the train today, what I want to do first when you get here, or the moment I really fell in love with you?”

He pushes himself up, shoulders pressing against the wall. “All of them,” he says, and Shouyou laughs.

“Okay," he goes, and Tobio stares at the empty room around him waiting for him to begin. Dark lines and hard angles, and so many quiet memories he's grateful he's not alone. "So I was at the sitting on the train, right? And get this, this little old lady who I know I’ve seen before. Like I could even describe the design on her favorite purse, that’s how many times I’ve seen her.”

“Okay,” Tobio says, because it’s gonna go on as long as he lets it.

“Right, so anyway—” he pauses to yawn, “she comes up to me and I thought she was lonely or something and just wanted to chat, but instead. Instead! She asks me where my mother is! She said it was amazing I could travel on my own!”

There’s a stunned second of silence as they both relive the moment, and then Tobio laughs and Hinata sighs loudly.

“You’re not supposed to laugh,” he says, but Tobio knows the shades of Hinata’s voice better than nearly anything in the world and he knows when Hinata’s trying not to laugh.

“I’m amazed too.” He draws the blankets around him. “What did you say then?”

“Oh, well I thanked her,” Hinata says simply, as if it was obvious. “I can’t go argue with a granny on the train. Okay, it’s not that funny. You can stop laughing now.”

“How old are you again?”

“Twenty five, which is older than you!”

“Not for much longer,” he retorts. Hinata hums in response with Tobio knows is a laugh tempered by another yawn. “Sleepy?”

“No, not yet. What else did I say I was gonna tell you?”

“First thing you’re going to say to me.”

“Mmm right.” There’s a moment of silence again and Tobio waits until Hinata speaks, this time with an unfamiliar voice. “What do you want first? Dinner? Bath? ...Me?”

“You,” he says, without a doubt.

Hinata bursts into laughter, bright as sparks and blinding. Tobio covers his eyes with his arm, trying not to give away just how sincere he was being. It’s all he can think about to focus on practice when all he really wants is to hold Hinata close. To feel his voice, not just hear it. “Kageyama, you’re embarrassing me.”

He rolls over and adjusts the phone, trying to control himself. “The last one. When did you really know?”

“Oh,” Hinata says, then he repeats himself, more serious. “Oh.” Another silence, but Tobio can hear Hinata’s breathing, and curious, he finds himself listening closely. “A few years ago, before us,” the other boy says, speaking slowly, or as slowly as Hinata Shouyou ever speaks. “I came home from college for a week and—” Abruptly, he laughs, softly, lost somewhere in memory. “And I went to our park. Remember it?”

Tobio nods, ignoring that Hinata couldn’t see him.

“And I sat on the slide for a few hours and I realized I was waiting for you to pop up. And so I figured that if I wasn’t over you by then, I wouldn’t ever be.” A pause, and then, “I guess I didn’t want to be.”

*****

 

     **voice (n.)**

  1.     an identity, a person. 
  2.     expression, adoration, love. 



 

 

This is how he knows:

Something about the way he says his name.

 _Shouyou_. Said so soft and so nervously. Kageyama’s shoulders are so tense it feels like he’s about to break, and his voice is rough, crumbling on the straightness of his spine.

Something about how his lips form the word, how his eyes face him, how they find him, and something about the way they shake him up, dark and blue.

“Say it again,” he says, clutching Kageyama’s hands tight. His own voice is a croak, it’s all he can do to hold himself together. “Say it again, I missed it.”

“You missed it?” Kageyama pulls back, his expression pained.

“I missed it,” Shouyou lies. _I missed you._ Even though he was careful to never miss a game, even though he recorded them, played back the moments with Kageyama on the screen. Nothing is like being the center of Kageyama's attention. Being allowed to be selfish. “C’mon, say it again.”

This time, he pays careful attention to the construction of Kageyama’s voice. The knit of his brow, the flush on his cheeks, the visible softening of every line. He could find Kageyama’s voice in his sleep, in the dark, in a memory, but it feels like new.

“Shouyou,” he says after what feels like a forever, and the way that Kageyama says his name makes him feel so fragile, so young, so loved, it’s embarrassing.

The only thing to do with his feeling is share it. He pushes himself up onto his tiptoes, stretching his arms out to wrap them around Kageyama’s neck, and then he hugs him tight, so tightly they’re both breathless by the time he lets go.

“Damn, I missed you,” Kageyama curses softly. “I’ll quit volleyball and stay home with you.”

Shouyou gives him a punch, holding up his fist ready for another. “Don’t even joke!”  
Kageyama ignores him, shutting his eyes and hugging him again and Shouyou loses the strength to fight. He pets Kageyama’s head instead, looking rather forlornly at the umbrella he had brought, dropped on the ground. “Want to go play tomorrow? Show me that new set.”

“Which one?” His voice is muffled against Shouyou’s shoulder.

“The one against that French team. Fourth game.”

“Mm.”

“That’s a yes?”

“Mhmm.”

“Yesss.”

Outside the lightning is shaking and they can both feel the rain soaking into their clothes, gathering in the abandoned umbrella, droplets on their skin. Kageyama’s lips are cold against his and his eyes when Shouyou pulls back seems brighter than usual. He laughs, using a hand to push back Kageyama’s bangs and pushing himself up again to give another kiss.

“Shouyou,” Kageyama says again, and he wonders how a name can sound so loved. He wipes water out of his eyes. “Your plants must be loving this.”

“It’s been a long time,” Shouyou says, grinning. He holds out a hand, “Come on, Tobio, let’s go home.”

*****

 


	5. i found love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out there was one left little bit inside me.

     **tomorrow (n.)**

  1.     a promise.
  2.     yet unwritten.



 

"Wait for it. Waiiiiiit for it. Wait....just a second...." Yachi takes a careful step back, hands out, like he's ready to bolt at any second. 

He's not going to run, but damn if his fingers don't itch, ready to undo all of her hard work. Whatever substance she's used to coax his hair into order feels weirdly cool against his skin, but he still finds himself sweating, which makes him pretty uneasy cause he's not wearing the vest or the jacket or the tie and isn't that the air conditioner, humming in the background? 

"No, Kageyama! Don't!" 

He grimaces, shoving his hands under his armpits. "Are you done yet?" he asks, more gruffly than he means to. 

Yachi rubs her hands under the water and dries them on a towel, before shaking her head. "Nope, there's still the flowers I have to do." 

He groans, starts to run his hands through his hair, and immediately stops when he sees the look of horror on her face. "I got it! I forgot!" He holds them up in front of him, mostly to calm her down. "Jeez, I just—" 

"...Nervous, maybe?" Her voice is hesitant and even after all these years, sometimes he thinks she's still afraid of him. But then she smiles, reaching out to touch his hand and says, "You know there's nothing you have to be nervous about right?" 

"I know," he says, and he does. He's not even sure what this is. Maybe it is nervousness; has he  _ever_ been nervous before? Not for games, not for tryouts. Not even for school tests, mostly because he didn't even know enough to be nervous. He starts to rub the back of his neck and tsks when he remembers just in time. 

"I'm just gonna get some air." 

"Mmkay." Yachi turns back around, double checking the bouquets: peonies and magnolias and dahlias, shades of pink and orange and white in her hand. He can't believe he knows all of their names, but maybe it'd be more surprising if he _didn't_ by this point, given how much Hinata cared about that single detail and how little he cared about everything else. 

_"Is my family coming?"_

_"Of course."_

_"Can we invite some friends?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"And you're going to be there?"_

_"Are you kidding me?"_

_"Then I don't want anything else."_ When it comes down to it, maybe it's more a wedding wrought together by their mothers, because all Tobio wants is to spend the rest of his life with Hinata and he doesn't need a ceremony to do it. All he needs is the paper on their coffee table, the one that says Hinata is his family, for better or for worse, til death do them part, their seals stamped in red to prove it. 

All the rest is...is what? Excessive? Tiring? 

"I'll be back," he mumbles to Yachi and heads for the back door, feeling her eyes on him as he goes. 

He breathes a sigh of relief as soon as the first taste of cool air hits him. The last few days have been strangely warm—Hinata was so excited about that, wouldn't shut up about it really—but right now he feels like he can finally breathe. Cherry blossom petals line the walkways, making the lawn turn pink, making the  _whole world_ turn pink with ever lift of wind. He sticks his hands in his pockets (just to be safe), and tilts his head back, taking quiet, deep breathes until he feels the knot in his chest start to finally ease. 

And then he hears footsteps and he somehow knows, without even looking. 

"Are we allowed to see each other before the wedding?" 

"That only talks about brides. Are you the bride?" 

"I thought you are." He turns, takes in Hinata standing there with his jacket on, hair brushed back, eyes shining. He's already got the flower pinned to his lapel, a pale orange that only serves to make his hair look brighter. Hinata laughs, petals falling over his feet as he comes closer and their hands are somehow already joined up, Hinata's thumb against the small callouses on Tobio's knuckles. 

_All the rest is a gift._

Tobio's heart eases and he closes his eyes again, trying to memorize this moment. 

"Hey, Tobio, wanna know something?" 

"Mm. What?" 

"So actually," Hinata whispers, leaning forward conspiratorially. "I'm a little drunk." 

"You're what?" 

"I drank a little. 'Cause I was nerrvoussss." He slurs a little on the last word, but it seems more intentional than not, given the little wink Hinata throws in his direction.

"You were nervous?" 

"Maybe." He laughs, "Or maybe Yachi talked some sense into me." 

Tobio laughs, softly to himself, wondering if she used the same line on him. If she did, he hoped it worked, because there's only a few things Tobio's ever been so certain of in his life and Hinata is one of them. 

"Tomorrow..." he starts to say, then stops. 

Hinata bends down, picking up a flower that's managed to stay intact. He spins it around, balanced on his fingertip. The pale pink blurs. "Tomorrow..?" he echoes. 

"Did you want to go somewhere?" 

The flower stops spinning. "Like a honeymoon? I thought we weren't gonna do anything." 

"Yeah but..." His other hand flails a little, gesturing back at the low stone building. His mother's somewhere in there, wearing her favorite kimono, hair done. Their friends are there. Their families are there. Hinata's specially chosen flowers. His vows. With all that, why shouldn't they do more? "If you want to," he says. 

Hinata thinks about it for a moment, head tilted. A petal lands in his hair and Tobio carefully, carefully takes it out, imagining Yachi's horror if he ruins something. Then the man shakes his head, giving Tobio's hand a small squeeze. "I think really I just want to stay home with you." 

"Really?" 

"You're not always home, I have to treasure it." He presses a kiss to Tobio's knuckles and then lets go, walking backwards. "Although maybe not stay home  _all_ day. I haven't played volleyball in twenty whole days." 

Tobio follows Hinata without really thinking about it, hands back in his pockets. "That sounds way too long." 

"Right? I wanted to play as soon as you got back, but then there was all this stuff. Planning a wedding is nearly as bad as being in school." 

He reaches his door and pauses, hand resting on the handle, as he looks back. 

"Are you nervous?" he asks, and the way he grins makes Tobio certain he's being teased. 

Still, he rises to the challenge. "Of course not. Speak for yourself." 

"Don't be nervous, okay? I'll be right there." 

 _I'm here._ _I'm here. I'm here._

He remembers the feeling he had when he first heard that. A weight falling from his shoulders, the shattering of a crown, the way Hinata's always there, just like he says. 

He remembers now what it feels like to be nervous, the thought of saying goodbye to Hinata, right before they separated for college. The thought that he'd never see him again. He remembers benches in the snow and buses in the morning. If he could go through that, he doesn't see why he can't handle this. 

He smiles, leans forward, and kisses Hinata carefully on the lips. "Yeah," he says. "I love you." 

**Author's Note:**

> I take questions and comments way over here on my [tumblr](http://heroicsx.tumblr.com) eyyy ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و  
> There's also [twitter](https://twitter.com/seconddaysea) for my trendy folks.


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